A Wonderful Fortuitous Love
by owlsarelovely
Summary: "You see, Draco Malfoy, without your sarcastic replies to endure each morning and that arrogance only you could carry, I find myself somewhat missing you." Draco thought the biggest problem living for a year under the same roof as Hermione Granger was the probability of them killing each other. He never thought it would be falling in love with her.
1. prologue

"_Sometimes the things you want the most don't happen and what you least expect happens. I don't know – you meet thousands of people and none of them really touch you. And then you meet one person and your life is changed forever."_

— _Love and Other Drugs_

* * *

From a young age, adults have drilled the notion into children's heads that it does not matter whether or not you fail or succeed. In the end, all that matters is that you tried your best. They make you think that, so long as you do that, you'll be okay.

What no one thought to mention, what no one bothered to warn children about, is that there are moments when it doesn't count for anything. Trying your hardest does not always work. And, for Narcissa Malfoy, this was one of those moments. She had tried so hard not to resort to this, had tried everything she could think of. But everywhere she had looked there was nothing but dead ends and cold looks, and hence why Natalie Hopkins was sitting across from her. Because there was no other choice.

Only that did not make what she was saying any less expected.

"Just so we're on the same page here," Narcissa started slowly, her clear blue eyes watching the woman across from her coffee table, "in order for my son, Draco, to marry your daughter, Ophelia, he must…?"

"He must fit the required expectations," Natalie finished for her, nodding, as she reached for her tea and took a slip. "We are the most well-known, respected, wealthy, pure-blooded family throughout Europe, Narcissa. There is not a single witch or wizard in our society who has not heard of my family's name. Did you really believe we've become so successful through our wealth?" She did not pause for an answer. "No, the majority of today's society is made up of magical creatures, half-bloods, Muggle-borns and Squibs alike. If we were not kind towards them, we would only have half, not even that, of our publics' respect."

Narcissa clung to her every word. "Showing courtesy to everyone you meet is how you've worked your way to the top?" she asked as she mulled the words over, absentmindedly stirring her tea.

Natalie was the only person Narcissa had ever met who could stare a person down, yet, by some striking talent, still managed to look polite about it. "Yes," she said shortly. "Therefore, you must see why I'm hesitant to allow Draco to marry my daughter. With all due respect, your family hasn't exactly…" She paused to think over her next words. "Well, it's no longer on high standards since the war, is it?"

"No," Narcissa answered quickly, having anticipated that this particular subject would come up, "but that is why if we combined our families –"

"You're hoping that'll bring you on good terms again with the media and such?" she guessed, her gaze stern and calculating.

"Of course."

Natalie raised an eyebrow, crossed her legs, and leant forward – perfectly neat, wavy blonde hair not moving an inch out of place as she did. "But what will that do for my family?"

Narcissa said nothing, because, in all honest, at this point all she cared about was _her_ family.

Natalie leaned back a little on the plush sofa, a sort of resigned look about her now. "See? I cannot afford for my family's reputation to be put in jeopardy. That is why, if you truly want Draco married to Ophelia so badly, he must have all seven values my family is so famously known for; patience, bravery, respect, kindness, tolerance, loyalty and chivalry."

Narcissa fought down the irritation threatening to seep into her tone. "But Draco is all of those things and more."

"Some of them, maybe. Certainly not all," she said flatly. "I know for a fact that your family does not care for Muggle-borns, Squibs, or any magical creature – especially house elves. I know Draco isn't what one would call the most respectful towards women, or anyone else with different views for that matter. I know –"

"Very well," Narcissa interrupted, rubbing the bridge of her nose, sure that her annoyance was beginning to show now. She had not brought the woman here to be insulted, after all. "I understand where you're coming from. But what can I do to fix that?"

Natalie put down her teacup. In the silence, the china made a small _clink_ against the mahogany table. She then stood, swinging her violet handbag around her shoulder. "That is for you to figure out, not me," she said unconcerned, adjusting the straps of her bag. "But if you want your son to marry my Ophelia, I suggest you think of something to change my mind by the second Sixth Month Ball. You're still holding it this year, I presume?"

"I am." Narcissa also got to her feet, if only because Natalie was looking down on her as though she were in some way inferior rather than the Malfoy she was.

"Good," she replied levelly, leading herself to the large double doors, shoes clicking on the polished floor. "You will bring him to our traditional afternoon lunches when I request it so I can see how the process is coming along. I will tick off the values he has shown and I expect the media will also be paying close attention." She swivelled around on her heels to meet Narcissa's gaze and continued, only more clearer this time. "Then, by the last Sixth Month Ball of the year, I will finally make my decision whether or not he is fit to marry Ophelia." Her eyes swept over Narcissa, as if searching for something. "Do we have an understanding?"

For whatever reason, she hesitated. This was her last chance to finally bring the family name out of the dirt. Except it felt like something more, only she could not think what. Pushing the feeling aside, Narcissa nodded. "I accept your terms."

Natalie, too, nodded. "Keep in mind that this will most definitely be the last chance you'll get to redeem your lost reputation," she said, as if Narcissa needed reminding. "I advise you to take particular interest in Draco's dislike and hatred for house elves and… the blood status problem he seems to have developed from Lucius. Those are the main areas I feel will be most difficult to mend. Good day and good luck to you Narcissa," she smiled, and though it was a friendly smile, it did not hide the flash of perseverance in her eyes.

When Natalie was gone, Narcissa's body slumped against the wooden door. What could she possibly do? How could anybody change a persons' lifetime views? Was that even _possible?_

Her eyes swept over the foyer as if expecting the answer to suddenly fly in her face. She wasn't worried about the values Natalie had set out, Draco could be charming when he wanted to be, only just to people he believed was worth it. The real problem was how was he going to suddenly start loving house elves? How was he going to even begin learning respect for Muggle-borns?

And then, the answer quite literally did fly in her face. The family black owl swept through the large window at the back, and as it flew by, it zoomed over Narcissa's head, dropped the _Daily Prophet_ in her ready hands, and flew gracefully back out again with a single hoot.

She breathed out heavily, moved to toss the paper aside when something made her do a double take, and she found herself holding the paper closer, because it was barely noticeable and she might never have seen it if it were not for that second glance. But there, in the corner of the parchment, was a picture of no other than Hermione Granger, smiling brightly and standing before a large sign that adorned the words: _The Promotion of Elfish Welfare._ And just under the picture, it read: _In need of an Assistant._

There are also moments where you have to wonder just how much in life is coincidence, and how much is fate. Later, Narcissa would think about what might have happened if she didn't look back that second time. Wondered what would have happened if she never even looked at the paper. Or if this particular issue of _The Prophet_ came out a week too late. Only she did look that second time. She did look in the paper and it did not come a week late, and after several moments of pure, intense silence regarding the moving photograph, the solution to all the Malfoys problems uncurled itself, becoming crisper and crisper as she considered the Granger girl. But she was not really just Hermione Granger anymore, because from that moment on, the know-it-all Draco so frequently complained about over the summers, the girl who he hated more than any other, suddenly became the solution to everything.

The trademark Malfoy smirk spread across Narcissa's lips. She could not help but feel this could be the beginning of something very interesting indeed.

* * *

**this is literally the third time i have posted this fic on here WHY DO I KEEP REMOVING IT UGH. i promise, i will not be deleting it this time. it shall be posted on here if it kills me. i wrote this two years ago and only just completed it this year in june, and because it took so long i feel i should share it with more people. enjoy! as others have said, this fic will rip your heart out, put it together and then rip it apart again. **


	2. an agreement

Apples.

There was nothing like an apple on a warm summers day, nothing at all which could top the burst of flavour that hit a man's tastebuds with every bite, sending a sudden jolt of energy through him as the sweet juices trickled lazily down his chin. It was amazing how much beauty was in one fruit; the way they so delicately and precariously hung from a tree, swinging hypnotically with every breeze, shining brilliantly in the sunlight. The way a single dewdrop would glisten and sparkle brightly as it slowly slid down the curve of the apple. The different variety of colours they could come in, different flavours. _Nothing could come between a man and his apple._

"Draco! Is that you I heard? Are you home?"

Except his mother.

"No!" Draco indolently called back, bringing the beautiful fruit to his lips.

"Oh, good!" was the reply. "When did you get in?"

Draco pressed his lips together and closed his eyes in irritation. "Not long ago!" he yelled back.

"Listen dear, I've got to speak with you about something!"

"Spectacular," he drawled to himself, then to his mother, "Do you think you could come down here first?"

Pause.

"Oh, all right!"

He heard footsteps from the floor above and brought the apple once more to his mouth.

"I hope I didn't call you out of anything important," Narcissa said, interrupting yet again as she made her noisy appearance, shopping bags dangling on her arms.

"I'm always doing something important," he said seriously, hardly sparing her a glance.

She ignored that and instead thrust her hands out to touch his waist so suddenly it was all Draco could do to bite back a startled yelp. "Oh honey, you look so thin, are you eating?"

He pushed her hands away impatiently. "I was about to," he began; ready to express his annoyance, "but _someone_ –"

"Anyway, darling," she continued, to Draco's complete and utter horror tossing the apple in the bin. She sat her bags on the polished floor and clasped her hands together. "There's something very important we need to discuss."

Draco's mouth opened incredulously, torn between fury and shock. "You – you just threw away my apple!" he cried.

"Stop being such a child," she scolded. "This is much more important than apples."

He gritted his teeth and slumped down at the long dining table. "Nothing is more important than apples," he snapped.

Narcissa took a seat beside her son, fixing him with a steady look. "This is. You remember that lovely girl, Ophelia?"

"No," he said flatly.

"Oh, but you must! Her mother and I were such good friends and as children you used to play together."

"That little tart?" Draco said before he could stop himself. He scoffed. "Mother, we were never friends nor did I really ever see her."

She seemed put out. "Okay, so I _suppose _you didn't have much to do with her –"

"Still don't."

"But we have talked about your betrothment to her once before and I still think it's a very appropriate idea."

He leaned back in his seat and rested his hands behind his head lazily, incapable of even feigning interest. "Right then, when's it happening?"

She shifted in her seat. "That's the trouble, dear."

"Trouble?"

"You see, now that we're not on such good terms with the media and… basically everybody else…" She hesitated, her discomfort evident. "Ms. Hopkins and her family would more than likely be brought down for their involvement with us."

"Right?"

"And her family's very well known."

"And?"

"Well, for you to marry her daughter and fully regain our family's reputation, you must meet certain requirements."

Draco had to hold back a snort. "Which are?"

She looked to the ceiling as if it had the words written there. "Bravery, patience, respect, chivalry, kindness, loyalty and tolerance."

He raised an eyebrow and did a quick glance up at the ceiling, wondering if the words really were up there. "What is this, a cult or something?"

"No, Draco," she snapped. "This is how they've kept their family's name so well over the years without any slip-ups – they're the perfect pure-blooded family. Can you imagine how… how big it'll be?" She sat up straighter with suppressed excitement. "When the Malfoys, and you know how well known we are, unite with the Hopkins? It'll be huge! So big that the mistakes we've made in the past won't matter anymore."

"All right, so what's the trouble that you mentioned beforehand then?" Draco asked, casually picking lint off his shirt.

"Well, you do realise what those seven trails mean, surely?"

"Yeah, yeah," he waved his hand, "it means I've got to be respectable and all that crap. The point?"

She cleared her throat. "The _point_ is Draco, that you must be that way towards every Muggle, every Squib, every house elf, every Muggle-born, every half-blood, every pure-blood, _everyone."_

"Everyone?" he asked disbelievingly, looking up.

"Everyone. Especially your inferiors."

Draco let this information sink in, and when he spoke his voice was calm compared to the anger simmering inside him. "Mother, if you're bloody well joking say so right now."

"I wish I was."

There was a heartbeat of silence, and then Draco tossed his hands in the air. "No. I'm not doing it. I won't."

"Yes, and nor does Ms. Hopkins believe you will. She knows what you're like."

"And who made me this way?" Draco said angrily. "Whose fault is it that I was brought up like this?"

"Lucius's and mine, I know, but that was wrong of us and –"

"Have you told Father?"

"No, not yet. I thought it best to discuses it with you first."

"Brilliant, you've told me. Obviously, I can't meet up to Ms. Pottykins –"

"Hopkins," she corrected in a warning tone.

"– expectations, so what is it you plan to do?"

"That's where the master plan comes in."

"The 'master plan'?" he repeated, dubious.

She glared darkly. "Yes. See, I was skimming through the _Daily Prophet_ as I often do, oh the clothes that are in this season are ridiculous, I don't even know how –"

"Get on with it mother," Draco instructed through a clenched jaw.

"Yes, sorry. And I came across a picture –"

"Really?" he asked with mock fascination. "A picture in the _Daily Prophet?_ How unusual, tell me more."

"– of Hermione Granger in front of the Elfish Welfare building."

Draco stared. And stared some more. He did not know where this was going, but that did not stem the bad feeling in his stomach as he looked back at his mother steadily, calculatingly.

"What has she got to do with anything?" he asked slowly.

"She's Muggle-born and works for elf rights. And I don't claim to have any warm feelings whatsoever towards her, but," she leaned in, hands crossed on the table between them, "it's as though this was supposed to happen Draco. Its very good luck –"

"Hold on." He held up a hand signalling for her to pause. With that hand, Draco rubbed his eyes and took his sweet time before speaking again. "Are you saying I have _to work for her?"_

"She's looking for an assistant, so yes, you will work for her."

He nodded once. Stared ahead at nothing in particular. The only other time he had ever questioned his mother's sanity was when she'd lied to the Dark Lord's face, all for him, years ago. He almost had the mind to ask if she was joking again, but his mother only ever joked when she was tipsy on cocktails. Her face was hard, and he knew she was set on this decision, whether or not he liked it. Usually, he refrained from crossing his mother, all too aware that when she wanted something very much, it would happen. And maybe if that had been all she had to say, he could have kept his emotions in check.

"She's also in need of a roommate."

And Draco lost it. Logic was clear he had no real choice in this. But that did not stop him from bloody well trying.

If there had been anything on the table, he might have thrown it across the room, because when Draco shot out of his chair, it was so fast it toppled to the floor, and before he knew it he was yelling.

"I'm not living with her and I most certainly will not work for her! Have you been dangling from the Quidditch stadium or sniffing floo powder, Mother? I will, never, ever, ever, _ever_ under any circumstances live with her! She's a _Mudblood,_ a Mudblood I have hated for over half my life and I swear to god, working with the bint is bad enough, but you put us under the same roof for more than a day and I cannot make any guarantees she'll be alive the next morning!"

"Draco!" Narcissa rose from her chair too. "That kind of attitude is what has to change! You will live with her, if she asks why, say it's because you feel the need for change from your luxurious life, tell her you're desperate for work, perhaps even use a portion of the truth and say you want to redeem yourself. Say her flat is the only one close enough to work and up to your standards, say I picked it out for you because at the time you didn't care who your roommate was, say you wanted to move out of the manor and try something yourself. I don't know, Draco, but you managed to sneak Blaise in here once for an entire summer without my knowledge so I'm positive your mind will come up with some story. Just make it a good one. You will not tell her what you are up to and when you apply for the job, offer a generous amount of money, not too much that she feels guilty, but enough to win her over. And then only put up with her for a year."

"A YEAR?" he bellowed, but she ignored him.

"If seen in public together, put up a good show and at least act as though you're enjoying yourself and not thinking about lighting her on fire, treat the elves nicely, when living with her, do try to be civil. Always remember how important this is Draco. Our family has worked hard to the top and I will not stand idly by and watch it fall, is that clear?"

"No –!"

"One year, that is all I ask."

He groaned loudly, his hand clenching and unclenching as the other ran a hand through his hair, seriously considering whether or not to just rip it all out, all the while wishing he didn't have any of this weighing down on his shoulders. How was he even supposed to make such a life-ruining decision on an empty stomach?

"Do we have an agreement?"

"You're not really giving me a choice, are you?" he asked after a long moment.

"No, I'm not."

Draco hesitated. He knew he would be so furious with himself after, just knew he was going to regret this decision for the rest of his life. If his parents weren't so intent upon getting their old life back, he wouldn't consider this. But it was undeniable, the Malfoys needed to make a comeback. They needed to be respected again, and it was with these thoughts and more that had Draco saying warily, "Do I have to sign in blood?"

Narcissa started to smile.

"Wait!" he said as she moved closer to hug him. Looking his mother squarely in the eye, he said, "I'll agree if you get me my apple back."

* * *

**next chapter: enter the heroine, hermione i-punched-draco-malfoy-in-the-face granger ;D**


	3. job interview

_"I don't know if you've ever noticed this, but first impressions are often entirely wrong."_

— _Lemony Snicket_

* * *

Draco couldn't believe it. He was going to be working for Granger. Mudblood Granger. This was disgusting. Just the thought of it all made his insides squirm uncomfortably. He hated her, hated everything she represented, hated her friends, hated her Muggle family, hated that blasted cat, hated she got better grades than he did, hated that she never reacted to his insults. At least with Potter and Weasley they retaliated and more often made fools of themselves. With Granger everything had to be _rational._ The stupid bint. How was he even supposed to contain himself from hexing her? The mere sight of her would set him off. There was no way he could do this.

He turned around again, this being the second time he'd decided he would not go through with this, and pushed his way past the crowd of people who made no effort to hide their glowers.

Draco was thinking too much of apples when he agreed to this. He couldn't do it. There was no way.

But then as he continued onwards through the streets of Diagon Alley, he caught more people glaring at him, some whispering behind hands, some not bothering to use their hands. Some even looked smug.

He tried to remember what things had felt like when people bowed to his family's every whim and found the fond memories of his father ordering people around were getting hazier and hazier. And if this is how the public reacted by Draco's presence, he could only imagine how they treated his father. And while Draco had understood why the man avoided leaving the manor, he thought now, as he really considered it and stood in the centre of this sullen treatment, he finally, fully, understood why this was so important. His mother, who once had more friends than the number of students in his year at Hogwarts, saw two or three at most and hardly left the confinements of their house. None of them had been publicly out as a family in years.

And suddenly yet slowly, the overpowering need to make them all sorry was there, pulsing and demanding, and his lack of enthusiasm was flipped completely. He was not going to accept this anymore.

Draco sneered anyone who met his eye and marched in the other direction, towards Gringotts Bank and to the side where a new cream coloured building, about sixteen floors up, stood. One of the new additions after the war.

The large, finely carved wooden doors opened at his approach and he stepped onto the marble floor for the first time. There were witches and wizards arriving by floo to the left of him, to the right they were lined up for departure. Further up, there was a large peach coloured reception desk and on either side were more walkways where people busily came and went.

He strode confidently to the front desk. If he were being honest with himself, he could not help but admit that this place was rather nice, but there was no way he was about to look impressed with a building Granger worked in. Anyone who employed her was obviously not all there in the head.

"I'm here to see, uh, Miss. Granger," Draco told the woman behind the desk.

She wearily looked up at him from behind her Potter-like glasses, tucking away a strand of plain brown hair that had came free from her tight bun. "Name?"

He paused for a second. "Draco Malfoy."

Her lips, coated in brown lipstick, pressed together into a straight line. "I see," she said, her voice tighter than it had been before. "Do you have an appointment?"

"No, I don't –"

"Take a seat over there." She gestured at the rows of puffy plum coloured seats close to where the fireplaces along the walls were. "I'll call you in when she's free."

"But –"

"Sit down and wait patiently or leave."

Draco bit his tongue to prevent himself from hurling back the retort he knew would get him thrown out of here and slumped into a chair, arms crossed in annoyance. Back in the day, a Malfoy would never be told to wait; this was ludicrous.

Leaning back further into the chair, he closed his eyes, shutting himself off from the monotonous voices of the people in the building and the weird thing that kept ringing on the desk, and pictured all the lovely ways he planned to get Bun Woman fired once he got his reputation back. Maybe someone could 'accidentally' fool with the floo network and turn the fireplaces into real fire… such a splendid idea…

* * *

"Martin, stop poking him!"

"But Mum! He looks funny!"

Draco groaned and stretched, letting his eyes slowly blink open to meet a pair of hazel ones. He jumped back and the kid erupted into fits of giggles.

"I scared him Mummy!" he cried joyfully.

The woman frowned at her child. "I'm so sorry about him."

Draco examined her. Her nose was rather large but all in all she wasn't bad looking, a little plain, but nice nonetheless. "That's quite all right. Anything is more interesting than waiting for the damn receptionist to call me up. Although, now, I'm not bored at all." He put on a charming smile.

"Oh," she smiled back, moving closer. "All because of my son?"

"And the company," he said, voice low.

She laughed. "My, you're flattering. What's your name?"

Shit.

"Uh, um… it's Draco… Malfoy."

The woman's contorted face was the last thing he saw before she backhanded him across the cheek.

"You bastard! My uncle was killed in that war!"

Draco rubbed where her hand had hit. "I… well, umm…"

She huffed and stood, pulling the kid into her arms. "My life will never be the same without him! He was like a father to me!" And she stormed off dramatically, large nose in the air, kid dragging behind her, down the hall.

Draco ran a hand through his hair, still blinking stupidly. How on earth was the death of her uncle his fault? He hadn't even played an influential part in the bloody war!

"Draco Malfoy, Miss. Granger will see you now," Bun Woman called, pointing to her right. "She's up the stairs, down the hall through the elevator on the fifteenth floor, to the right and through the last door down the hallway."

Still trying to recover from the fact a woman had just turned him down; Draco stood and gloomily went up the stairs and to the elevator. Would life always be like this? Once he got married, he had to stay with Ophelia obviously or the consequences would result in all his hard work going to waste, but that meant this was his last chance to fool around, to be a free man. How was he supposed to do that when every female hated him? And when women did want him again, he could not have them because of Ophelia.

Draco sighed and pulled the door open to the last hall. He needed an apple and some firewhiskey… lots and lots of firewhiskey. Wait, no… lots and lots of apples.

He didn't realise where he was heading until he collided very roughly into something. Draco heard a shriek as hundreds of papers flew around, obscuring his view, and instinctively reached out his hand through the shower of parchment and pulled the woman back upwards, setting her upright.

It wasn't until she looked up through hair so bushy he'd have recognised it anywhere, did Draco apprehend that he had his clean, well looked after self pressed up against _Granger._ He let go of her as though he'd been burned, taking a giant step back. "Bloody hell, woman!"

"M-Malfoy?" she asked, bewildered. "Why are you…" she looked around as if to assure herself she was in the right place, "here?"

Granger had not changed in the slightest over the years. She still didn't understand the purpose of conditioner, dressed just as boring as ever and even still had the same Hogwarts _bag_ draped over her shoulder. His nose wrinkled voluntarily.

"I assure you, I'm not here because I want to be," Draco drawled. "Did Bun Woman not tell you I was here?"

"No, she – wait, who?"

"Well I am, so lets just get this over and done with." He pushed past her, and to his satisfaction she stumbled, only this time he did not bother to steady her.

"Get what over and done with, may I ask?" she asked, papers messily back in her hands as she hurried to keep up with him.

Draco sped up so she wouldn't be walking near him. "My job interview."

"Your… _what?"_

"Have your brains melted from spending so much time willingly around Potter?"

Granger didn't reply, but he saw from the corner of his eye the nasty look she shot him before opening a door with the label:_ Promotion of Elfish Welfare._

Draco had expected it to be a small office. He was very much mistaken. This door only led to more doors and people walking in and out of them. He slowed down so he could now follow Granger through the mass of employees, some eying him with suspicion. At the very far wall, it held a massive screen, which read everything from how to treat house elves right to how to get help if you're a house elf being abused, and on either side of the screen were staircases that lead to a balcony which circled the whole floor containing more doors lined down it.

He wanted to ask how big this building was, as it certainly did not look this large from outside, but held back his curiosity. He didn't want to imply being fascinated or surprised by a place she worked. Which he wasn't.

As they walked up the stairs and to the balcony, people called to Granger, shouting out, 'hello's' and asking, 'how are you?' and he watched her with a frown as she replied with nods, smiles and saying, "I'm great, thank you."

Draco wanted to hit her over the head and tell her politeness will never get you anywhere in life, but restrained himself and endured it. If he wanted her to employ him, might as well not be too much of an arse for now.

After a several turns and down more hallways, they came to a stop at another door that this time was labelled: _Miss. Hermione Granger._

Mudbloods have their own labels now, what was this world coming to?

She pushed open the wooden door and Draco was met with a room that was about as large as his own at Malfoy Manor, which was saying something. The back was lined with large, clear windows from floor to ceiling and in front was her shinily polished desk with two cushioned chairs facing it. To his right were shelves and shelves of files, papers, and books. To his left was a bookshelf. Draco assumed Granger read those more interesting books during breaks.

He took a seat casually and watched the little rainbow fish on her desk swim happily about in his bowl. "You don't want your ugly cat to see Mr. Fishy, Granger, otherwise Mr. Fishy may turn into Mr. Lunchy."

She scowled as she took the chair on the other side of the desk and sat forwards, her right hand sitting on top of her left. "Now what do you want Malfoy? To be honest, I'm a little surprised they let you into the building."

"It's called being charming, you should try it some time. Oh wait," he mocked sympathy, "no one would fall for that when you look like Medusa. Sorry."

"You've certainly matured, haven't you?" she commented dryly. "But I really don't have time for this. If you're here on important business, please state what it is. If not, I'd like it if you left."

"You've certainly over matured, haven't you?" he retorted coldly. "You're like a fifty-four year old rather than someone in her twenties."

"Twenty-two."

"Yes, a few years _does_ a difference," he said sarcastically.

"It obviously does if you're only a year younger than me and behaving like this," she said testily.

"I'm not a year younger than you! You were born in 1980 –"

"1979," she corrected.

"Whatever and you were born on…?"

"September, nineteenth."

"And I was June, fifth, 1980 so…"

"That's two hundred and sixty days apart. Basically a year."

"No!" he disagreed. "It's not."

"Yes, it is – it's more than half a year."

"Yeah, but not a complete year!"

"I said basically!"

"You said basically a year, not basically half a year –!"

"Same thing!"

"No, it isn't!"

"What do you want Malfoy?" she demanded, closing her eyes and rubbing at her temples. "Because I really,_ really_ don't have time for this."

"What, got a date with the Weasel?" Draco snarled.

"As a matter of fact, I do."

"I can't believe this," he muttered. "Four years later and you're still infatuated with the idiot."

She stiffened. "It's not infatuation, I love him. What do you want?"

"Sure, all the girls say that to begin with –"

"What do you want?" she cried, standing.

He smirked and did not respond right away for effect, but rather straightened the sleeves of his shirt. When he did speak, his eyes locked onto hers. "A job."

Granger faltered. "What?"

"I want to work here."

Three times she tried opening her mouth to say something, only to have it close again. Forth time lucky did she stutter, falling back into her chair. "B-but… why? What? Is this your idea of a joke? Because it's not funny, Malfoy."

"I only joke with people I like," he said shortly.

"Okay…" she began slowly, nodding and watching him like a mental patient. "Well if this isn't a joke, which I still don't believe, what makes you think I would employ you in the first place? I have plenty of capable people already interviewed and –"

"Because I'm Draco frigging Malfoy, Granger, and you will employ me. Not only do I not expect payment, but I'll even pay _you _for it."

"No," she said instantly. "The boss is the one who hands out the money and I will not be bribed, especially by you," she added, sitting back and crossing her legs.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. Time to bring out the Slytherin in him.

Sitting forward, Draco looked into her brown eyes with fake plea. "My family's name is tainted because of the war. I can't go anywhere where I'm not rudely pointed, stared or laughed at. Surely you noticed that before as we walked here?"

She didn't say anything, but the look in her eyes told him enough.

"You did. I saw your advertisement in the paper, and I figured I could redeem the Malfoy name if I showed I'm willing to work for it, and what better way than to work for you and elf rights."

She didn't say anything, again, for a long moment. Then she snorted unflatteringly. "Leave."

"What?"

"I said leave, Malfoy. I don't have time for whatever trick you're pulling and that sob story won't work on me. You made your choices and now I'm making mine. Goodbye, have a nice life." She stood and started to usher him out.

"This is not a joke!" he snapped, rising from his seat. "I'm dead serious, why else would I ever come here? I thought I'd seen the last of your bushy head and here I am! This is me desperate!"

Granger stood too, perhaps in preparation for a fight. "Listen, I'm sorry things are different for you now but there's no way I'm giving you a job just because you're 'desperate'. Plenty other people are desperate too."

"Have you seen how we're treated now? How low my name has stooped? I'm not living like this anymore, Granger. This is the best way to show I can be something more."

"Malfoy, you can't –"

"Dumbledore believed in second chances," he blurted.

Granger froze for a second, as though he'd started speaking Parseltongue. Then fury raised its ugly head as she said in a calm, cool voice, "Don't," she warned, not even looking at him. "Don't you dare use Dumbledore for your own selfish needs."

"Selfish?" he repeated. "This is the least selfish thing I've ever done! I'm not doing this for myself, I'm doing it for my parents!"

"So you're still doing what they tell you." Granger's tone wasn't surprised, and this made him equally as furious. If he was not one for a challenge, he might have given up entirely by now. But it was common knowledge that the more he wasn't allowed something the more he wanted it, and so he stood tall and looked at her sternly.

"I'm not leaving this room until I get that job," he spoke passively. "And I'm going to be blunt here. I don't like you. I know you don't like me. Understatements of the century, I know. But I need this. How am I supposed to prove the Malfoys can change if no one gives me a chance? And it doesn't have to be forever, say a year at most. Then afterwards you can hire whomever you want. But give me this job today." He swallowed his pride and added, "Please."

She looked back at him, her mouth parted. Blinked, but now she looked less certain. "I can't just…"

"We're adults, aren't we? You can put behind this resentment for a while, can't you?"

"W-well, of course," she said, awed that he'd suggest such a thing. "But I can't give you a job out of pity," she said quietly, leaning forward again. "That's not fair to –"

"I'm connected to all the pure-bloods that would have house elves. I could get them to cooperate much more willingly, Granger," Draco offered, and he knew she knew it was true.

She ran a hand through her hair, sucked in a sharp breath, and later he would think he saw her shake her head. "Fine," she bit out.

Draco was not a gaping man, nor was he rarely astonished. But for a few seconds he was. "Fine?"

"Yes, you can have the bloody job! Albeit you'll be monitored regularly for the first few weeks, so I can rest easy knowing you're not up to anything. If you do anything that I do not ask of you I'll have you fired, no exceptions. Is that understood?"

"Don't you trust me, Granger?" he said, feigning hurt.

"_Is that understood?" _

"Perfectly."

"Malfoy," she called, and with agitation he turned, suppressing the dire urge to lunge for the exit. "You do realise you'll be my assistant? Meaning, you'll be spending most, if not all, of your time –"

"– with you," he finished, trying not to grimace. "Believe me, I'm aware."

* * *

**and so it starts ;D thank you to all who read and review.**

**next chapter: draco sort of, might have, maybe a little, forgotten to tell hermione he's shacking up with her. and we get our first introduction to blaise. i've made him like a ron weasley for draco because i feel that kid needs some genuine bffs to be honest. **


	4. roomies

"You're going to be… _what?"_ Blaise demanded, sitting upright.

"Working for Granger and her elves," Draco mumbled depressingly.

"Come off it," he scoffed.

"Blaise, I'm serious. Why would I even joke about this?"

"Because it's insane! There's no way you'd willingly do that!"

"Believe me, it's not willingly. Any idea how to make murder seem like an accident?" he questioned hopefully.

Blaise grinned. "You could always say the elves formed some kind of cult and killed her…" He paused, and said, "Then again, now that I think about it they might kill themselves in the process of choking on all that hair… But," his smile turned serious as he shifted around in his seat, reaching for another ham sandwich, "I'm still having trouble seeing how you agreed to this. I mean, they're probably the two things you hate most in the world, house elves and Granger, and there are _a lot_ of things you hate, mate."

"Not true," he disagreed, watching him chew hungrily into the sandwich. "I hate Potter more than her, but she is definitely near the top of my most hated list."

"Exactly," he said, swallowing his food. "So why did you agree?"

"Well… wouldn't you if your family was in the state mine is? It's horrible Blaise; _I'm_ the one who's supposed to do the snickering and humiliating, not everyone else. The other day I was actually snarled at by that Justin Finch-Fletchley bloke for Merlin's sake, and he's a Mudblood! A Mudblood was acting as though _he_ were above _me!_ Can you image the atrocity?"

Blaise let out a low whistle. "Why didn't you just hex the little bugger?"

"I wanted to!" he exclaimed. "But that would only give the _Daily Prophet_ more dirt on my family. I can imagine the headline now:" Draco put on a deep announcement voice, "'Youngest Malfoy, Just How Dangerous is He to You and Your Family?'"

Blaise sighed, shoving the last bit of his sandwich into his mouth. "So how long ya gotta work for 'er?" he munched.

He shuddered. "Twelve months."

He swallowed again. "Yeah, see, just what I thought. Twelve's not long – wait, _hang on._ A year? You failed to mention that."

"Not something I want to be reminded of." He leaned back against the sofa, picked up a pillow, and covered his face with it.

"I don't think smothering yourself is the answer," Blaise said, amused.

"I fink itis," his voice muffled.

"I disagree. What's Ophelia like anyway? She really worth all this?"

"Waff I'm dozzen ifent or 'er."

"Take the pillow out, then talk," advised Blaise.

With an agitated groan, Draco slid the silky pink pillow from his face, letting it rest on his lap. "I said, what I'm doing isn't for her. I don't care about who I marry, I just want my respect back and she's the answer."

He raised a dark eyebrow. "You realise you'll be stuck with her for life?"

Draco furrowed his brows in thought. "Well… not necessarily."

"Yes, you will. If people hear about you sneaking around her back –"

"I could just pay to keep everything quiet."

Blaise frowned, but did not look convinced. "I guess. But you know those kind of things never do stay quiet. Someone could offer the chick twice as much as you paid her to keep quiet."

Draco shot him a dark look. "Must you always be such a downer? I have to work for Granger for a year whilst no woman will want me, and then I have to marry some blonde I don't even know, and then once women do want me I won't be able to have them. So in other words; my sex life is over, which basically means my life is over." He rubbed his eyes in frustration and repeated, "My life is literally over."

Blaise opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted when the door opened, followed by the rustling of plastic bags, before it closed again.

Blaise and Draco exchanged glances.

"Who's –?"

"Draco!" Narcissa called, her voice and the sound of bags crinkling growing nearer with every word. "I brought you some new robes for work, shoes, hair essentials, more apples, and you never told me…" She entered the living room and placed bags on top of the pillow still resting in Draco's lap, smiled once at Blaise who returned it through a new mouthful of bread, and looked down at her son expectantly. "You said she gave you the job. How did she react when you mentioned living with her?"

Blaise choked loudly on his sandwich and Draco patted his back, somewhat grateful for the small distraction of this particular subject..

"Mother, could you get him some water –?"

"Oh, no you don't." She put her hands on her hips. "He'll be fine. But I can't say the same for you. You didn't tell her, did you?"

"I, uh, well…" His patting on Blaise's back hardened and he started to flinch as Draco struggled, at a loss for words to change her mind. "You can't be serious about that part… can you?" Draco asked timidly. "She's filth Mother, how can you expect me to, not only work _for_ her, but to live _with_ her? After everything you and Father have taught me about –?"

"I did tell your father," she interrupted, "and it wasn't pleasant at first, but he did see reason. If it looks as though you've befriended her and you're no longer prejudice towards anything we consider 'below' us, then it'll convince Ms. Hopkins. As much as you might hate it Draco –"

"I _do_ hate it."

"– the Granger girl is part of the plan."

"But I hate her! What if I get driven into insanity from –?"

"You won't be driven insane –"

"Or what if she kills me –?"

"She won't kill you –"

"Or what if I kill her –?"

"If you kill her, I'll kill you –"

"Or what if –?"

"Or what if you kill Blaise!" Blaise cried, roughly shoving Draco's hand away and rubbing his back with a pained expression. "Christ Draco, I'm going to have a bruise there forever!"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Would you rather I let you choke?"

"I stopped choking ages ago!"

"Oh, well _forgive _me for –"

"Stop it," Narcissa ordered, and then rounding on Draco, "You're going to march straight over to her office –"

"Right now?" he demanded incredulously.

"Yes, right now, and you're going to tell her you'll be living together."

"What if she's already got a roommate?" he asked, trying and not succeeding to keep the hopeful tone from his voice.

Narcissa's cheeks suddenly went a faint pink. "Your father… he, well, jinxed the position. No one will go and see her about it unless it's you. Which it will be."

_"__What?"_

"So, off you go. Take Blaise with you, if you'd prefer."

"But –"

"Now!" she said angrily. "I'm a little fed up with your attitude, Draco. This is important."

Grumbling under his breath, Draco and Blaise stood, and walked to their doom.

* * *

"What do you mean she's not in her office? I only saw her yesterday! It's not as though she actually leaves work!"

Bun Woman's eyes drifted over to her quill. Draco wondered if she was considering stabbing someone with it. The only question was, was she going to stab herself, him or both?

"Miss. Granger had a meeting and won't be back until five."

"You mean to say, they actually have _meetings_ for house elves?" said Blaise, voicing Draco's own surprised thoughts.

Bun Woman regarded him coldly. "And just who are you, if I may ask?"

"Blaise Zabini."

"He's a friend," Draco added when she quirked up a barely visible eyebrow.

"I see," was all she replied with before she turned her attention to the parchment before her. Now it was Draco who was debating whether or not to snatch the quill from her hand and stab one of them.

"Look," he leaned down on the desk, "I just need to see Granger for a split second and I'll be gone."

"One can only hope," she muttered.

Pulling away, Draco ran a hand though his hair and gave Blaise a 'help me' look. He shrugged with a glance around their surroundings, and then abruptly smirked deviously and walked closer to the desk.

"If you don't tell us exactly where Granger is, Draco and I will run through the office claiming that…" he looked closer to the paper she was scrolling on, his smirk widening, "that Tully the house elf was in fact really eating those slippers."

She finally did look up. "And just how do you expect people to believe you?"

"Draco and I are very well acquainted with Mr. Nott, and we know he'll help us out. There are plenty more house elves where that came from."

She stared. "This is very far fetched."

"Well then," Blaise walked away deliberately slowly, "I suppose you won't care if that's exactly what we do." He opened his mouth to yell, and even though Draco had no idea what he was talking about, Bun Woman most certainly did, for her eyes narrowed.

"Fine! She's on the thirteenth floor, down the first hallway, to the left, and through the fourth door."

"Thank you," he said, sounding all too pleased with himself.

They took off, and Draco was unable to stop himself from glancing cautiously behind them; he wouldn't have been very surprised from the dirty look she shot them if Bun Woman changed her mind and then tackled them. Fortunately, they made it straight up the marble stairs unharmed, pushing past workers, to the elevator, and impatiently slammed down on the button.

"What was that about?" Draco asked him. "With Tully?"

"Oh, something Theodore once told me ages ago. He didn't mention anything?"

"You know very well we don't speak, Blaise," he said harshly.

"Right. Sorry, I forget sometimes, you know…" He looked uncomfortable. "Well, when he got his own place, unfortunately custody of Tully came with it. She was always his house elf, and he's never really liked her, you'd remember, and don't let Granger hear you saying this, but she's without a doubt the most annoying, vile elf I've ever met. Last time I talked to him, he was desperate to get rid of her, but she likes her job and won't work for anyone else."

"Why?" he asked, stepping out of the lift with Blaise and carrying on down the hall.

He shrugged. "Who knows? Elves mate, enough said. Anyway, she has a habit of… well; _we_ think she does, of eating slippers. They mysteriously disappear all the time, but none of us have been able to prove it and Theo's really growing impatient about it all." Blaise hesitated. "So there's been no interaction between –?"

Draco had just turned to the left. With eyes fixed on the fourth door, he cut Blaise off. "Mate, I think I ought to go in there myself. I'll be quick, run through and then out again. I really hate it here," he added at his friend's questioning look.

Blaise clucked his tongue. "Better get used to it."

"Thanks for your sympathy." He took a breath to prepare himself, and pushed open the door carelessly, letting it slam behind him.

Twenty-nine unfamiliar faces glanced up with a start from the noisy sound of Draco's arrival. The thirtieth face however, he knew very well. It only took him a few moments longer than it usually would for Draco to spot her; her wild hair was tied back in a ponytail today and slightly more presentable.

He went towards her, noticing that the middle-aged man, standing at the front of the room had his hands in the air as if he were doing some serious hand gestures, glared at him. Because he knew who Draco was or because he had interrupted his speech, Draco didn't know. He sped up quickly to her, knowing that if he didn't hurry, the twenty-nine people would come to their senses and kick him out.

Draco saw to his satisfaction that Granger looked positively horrified and embarrassed, her cheeks a bright red as he leaned down to her.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded furiously in a low voice, her eyes anxiously darting to her co-workers or whatever they were.

"Shush," he snapped, snatching the quill from her hand and messily writing, purposely in very large letters all over the paperwork she had, the message Draco had came all this way to tell her.

_We're now roomies._

_I expect there to be apples when I arrive._

_Ta._

And then he was leaving very quickly out of the deadly silent room before she could go on her full rage at him, meeting Blaise just out the hall and pushing him along hurriedly; not at all missing the way he tried not to wince when Draco touched his 'bruised back'.

"How'd she react?" he asked, looking back to the door. "It must've been better than expected because you were only gone for –"

"DRACO MALFOY!"

"Run," Draco said urgently.

* * *

**next chapter: is a wild chase around the workplace. hermione and draco end up in a closet together, and draco makes a dangerous proposition in order to get hermione to trust him. **


	5. doing the unthinkable

"Since when – has she – been this – violent?" Blaise panted.

Draco could not find his voice. Breathing heavily after the many turns and long halls filled with employees and dashing in and out of doors, he finally came to a skidding halt just before the lift. There was nothing extraordinary about it's metal doors, but Draco had never been happier to see one in his life. He slammed down with more force than was necessary on the button, rapidly hitting it and cursing.

"Come on, come on, come on!" he rambled, bouncing on the souls of his feet. But then the tapping of heels met his ears, and almost instantly he froze on the spot.

Panicking, Draco desperately looked between the long spiral stairs to his right, and then to the large metal doors before him that, he knew, would be too slow to close in time before Granger caught up to them.

She was after him, not Blaise, so shooting his friend a farewell look as a dozen formally dressed people flowed from the lift; Draco pushed past them and zoomed down the stairs.

He ran past Bun Woman's desk, through the mass of people, knocking, pushing, and swearing at them to move, before looking anxiously back at Granger again. He might have laughed, had this been a completely different situation, at the way she had suddenly half slowed down to some weird kind of walk/jog/skip/run as she tried acting completely normal, smiling graciously and nodding at the people around her who were practically gawking.

"Oh, Ms. Fitch, you look lovely today!" she called with forced pleasantness, waving. "Mr. Holloway, good evening!" The looks on their faces made it clear they had never seen 'Miss. Granger' act in such a manner.

When she was free of the cluster of people, Granger broke out into a proper sprint again, and it was only when she was much too close did Draco realise he'd stopped running to watch her strange display of normalcy.

The abrupt panic that came over him from the murderous gleam in her eyes made Draco, stupidly, run back down towards Bun Woman's desk – literally jumping and sliding over it rather than running through the doors like an intelligent person would have done.

Bun Woman let out a shriek, the most emotion Draco had ever seen her display, and scurried away into the large crowd that was now forming. There were not only people on the first floor, but up the staircases too, a long line forming right up until the second lot of stairs disappeared to the third landing.

But Draco barely recognised this: all he cared about was keeping a good eye on the Mudblood out to get him. Not surprisingly, she seemed to have been eaten up by the crowd, so to speak, because when Draco searched for any sign of bushy hair there was none – only gaping people.

He was breathing heavily, and everything around him (the exception of his drumming heart) was still. He did not marvel that she was out of sight. If there was one beneficial thing his father had ever taught him, it was to always keep your eye on the enemy.

And then movement caught his eye. She was slowly, as though trying to tame a hippogriff, walking towards the reception desk until that's all that was separating them.

Her bun was ruined with hair and loose pieces sticking up this way and that; Draco thought it a miracle that the whole hairdo hadn't collapsed. Her clothes were rumpled, and her face was shiny.

Draco hastened to the left of the desk, and she mirrored his action from the other side, his grey eyes piercing hers as anticipation surged through him. He then spirited to the right. When the action was repeated once more Draco found it hard not to scream at her.

"What are you doing?" he demanded irritably.

"Do you even realise how… how _rude_ that was before? Couldn't you possibly have waited until I was _out_ of the meeting?"

"No." He darted to the left, and when she mirrored it again. He leapt to the right once more. To the onlookers, what they were doing probably looked as though they were rehearsing for some bizarre kind of dance.

"Will you _stop?_"

"I will when you will," he told her, walking from side to side like a trapped animal, eyes still fixed to hers.

She returned his gaze for a moment, seeming determined not to be the first who gave up on this questionable game they were playing. Then, slowly, her eyes became less fierce, the challenge in them disappeared, and she gradually stopped repeating Draco's steps. Her attention left him to look around her fellow workers, and he noted the new blush that was creeping up her cheeks.

The people around them were now whispering to each other, only some pointing to Granger while most pointed at Draco, scowls on their faces. He couldn't understand why _she_ was blushing.

"All right," she huffed looking back to him. "I'm stopping."

He hid his triumphant glee, and said casually, "So I can come out from behind the desk now?"

"Yes, you can."

"Brilliant," he said, stepping around the desk with ease, allowing one longing glance ahead at the exit and bracing himself. "We'll just talk this out like the adults we –" And then, within seconds, Draco had dashed past her and around the crowd to the large doors, wrenching them open, and before long he was fleeing down Diagon Alley.

_Gryffindors were so predictable. _

It was hard to hide his joy: he had just bested Mudblood Granger, not that it was a rare occurrence or anything. Draco knew she really wasn't as smart as all the damn teachers made her out to be. Nevertheless, it felt good. But he could not let himself to get too wrapped up in his successful escape. It was only a matter of time before Granger would indubitably catch up.

His eyes scanned Diagon Alley for somewhere to hide temporarily. He wondered what Blaise had done with himself. Had he gone home, was he waiting around here or had he gone back to the manor? But he couldn't mull over Blaise's whereabouts for long, there was the odd sensation of being watched that had the back of his neck tingling.

Looking around, he made his way to _Madam Malkin's_ and dashed through the back of the store, careful to not run into Madam Malkin herself, and down into one of the changing rooms, locking it behind him.

He let out a loud sigh; a small amount of relief washing over him that was soon overthrown by hopelessness. Resting his head on the door, he closed his tired eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn't do this for a whole year – wanted nothing more, in fact, than to just return to the manor and stay there forever and sleep. It was pathetic, but it was also a hell of a lot better than looking after house elves.

Once Draco's breathing had returned to its normal pace, he opened his eyes, and came to the conclusion that if he wasn't going to die from all this, he was more than likely going to be killed from it.

"Malfoy."

Draco yelped, effectively banging his head hard on the door, and looked around to see Granger. He felt anger weld up in the pit of his stomach; she could not give him some peace, could she?

"What the bloody hell are you –?"

"Disillusionment Charm," she answered, leaning against the wall in a way that reminded him of Blaise. She looked at him expectantly.

"What?" he demanded.

"What?" she repeated sceptically. "Gosh, I don't know where to begin. Completely out of the blue, you pop up after seven years of insults and demand a job from me involving house elves, seeming full aware that, being my assistant, we'll be sending a generous amount of time together. And if that isn't enough, the very next day you burst through the door of my meeting, unconcerned about what you were interrupting or how much damage you could have done to my job, and boldly scribble all over my notes that you were now going to be sharing an apartment with _me._ I don't even think I need to tell you how bizarre that is. You want to live with _Hermione Granger." _He winced at the word 'want'. "There's so many things wrong with what you're doing I can't even…" She rubbed her forehead, unable to finish. "So, if anyone's allowed to say what, I believe it should be me! Just what are you playing at Malfoy?"

He stared at her for several moments, feeling very stupid that he had alluded himself to believe she'd simply leave it at that. Of course she wouldn't, this woman has to know everything and wouldn't stop until she did. It was this that reminded Draco of the many reasons why he loathed her so.

When he didn't respond, she glared at him in annoyance. "If you want your job you'll answer."

"How dare you –?"

"My patience is thinning," she threatened.

"So is mine!" he snapped. "And I will not answer to you! You always seem to forget, Granger, you're not worth my time."

"And yet I'm employed with a stable job and respected within the community, while you are neither." Draco took a threatening step forward, but stoped almost instantly when Granger raised her wand. "I want to know what's going on."

He looked between her and the wand before a devious smirk spread across his face. "You know, I'm surprised you're even allowed to carry one of those things."

"Why do you want to live with me?" she demanded loudly.

"Shut up!" he hissed. "Do you really want someone to –?"

"I used a Muffliato Charm," said Granger impatiently. "Now tell me exactly what it is you're hoping to get from all this, Malfoy."

He scoffed. "There is no way I'm having this conversation with you in a closet. I shouldn't even be speaking to someone like _you_ at all."

"You are aware that you're just digging yourself into a deeper hole?" she asked. "Insulting me, and then asking to live with me does not add up, therefore, I'm forced to draw up the conclusion that you're either, one, mentally unstable or two, you're up to something."

"So what if I am?"

"Mentally unstable? Well then I'd have to submit you to St. Mungo's."

He glared daggers at her. "You'd better watch your tone."

Finally, she stopped leaning against the wall and stood up straight, staring at him incredulously. "You're the one who wants to work for me!"

Again, he winced at the word 'want'. "You'll benefit from it."

"I don't need your money," she sneered.

He raised an eyebrow. "You're with Weasley, are you not?"

Her eyes sparked. "What are you insinuating?"

Frustrated, Draco decided that this conversation was getting them nowhere whatsoever. The sooner he stopped avoiding the subject, the sooner he could leave and return to Malfoy Manor – temporarily, of course, but he knew his mother wouldn't force him to leave the moment he stepped foot in the house. He also knew Granger would not go along with this unless… unless…

And then an idea, a dangerous one and probably the stupidest thing he'd ever considered, occurred to him. If he did not save the family's reputation, it would be damaged forever. Every Malfoy would be hated generations to come. Every ounce of hard work to gain such high status would be wasted.

Unless…

Unless he did the unthinkable.

"Listen… Granger… obviously I don't like you. You don't like me. Trust me, I have no desire to change that and I want to leave it that way _forever."_ He put a large emphasis on the last word. "But I just need you to cooperate with me – don't give me that look, just hear me out." Draco took a deep breath. "If I… if I prove to you that you can trust me on this, will you let me work and live with you for a whole year, no matter what?"

She stared at him doubtfully, clearing not buying or trusting a word he said. "I don't think you could ever possibly persuade me to trust you, Malfoy."

"What if there was a way for you to willingly trust me on this?"

"Oh? And what way would that be?"

"By magic."

She cocked her head to the side, now seeming curious. And they both knew her curiosity would win out in the end. It always did.

"What… kind of magic?" she asked.

Summoning up courage he did not know he possessed, Draco said boldly, "An Unbreakable Vow."

* * *

**next chapter: hermione's pov and will they go through with the vow?**


	6. unbreakable vow with a malfoy

Hermione could not remember the last time she had felt this confused. Theories and speculations were swirling around in her head as she tried to make sense of everything that had occurred over the last two days. She would have sooner expected Malfoy to bolt through her office dressed as an oompa loompa than announce the propositions that he had.

"Hurry up!" said ferret snapped impatiently as Hermione slowed down her hurried attempts to follow him through Diagon Alley. "The sooner this is over with the sooner I can…" And he trailed off, his face falling as he realised that the sooner they did get this over and done with, there still wouldn't be anything to look forward to. After this, Malfoy would have to collect his belongings and move in with her, starting his job on Monday.

He looked as though he were restraining himself from kicking something or screaming, and this only increased her interest. Just what would he get out of this if he so obviously did not want to follow through with it? What was so important?

"Just…" he struggled, "just get over here so we can… can get the Apparition over with."

Reluctantly she walked over to him.

They stood in front of each other for too long, so long that any effort to hide their discomfort would have been futile. Then, with a disgusted look, he held out his arm and she took it. Hermione didn't know why he had to look so horrified at the prospect of touching her, it's not as though her arm was bare or anything. Truthfully, she didn't like the idea of touching him either, but really, the expression on his face was too much of an overreaction.

With a crack, they were gone.

Hermione felt the horrible sensation of being stretched, squeezed and pulled about, not as awful as it had once felt, but the uncomfortableness as though she were being forced down a very tight tube was still there all the same.

When she next opened her eyes, they were in front of Malfoy Manor. Hermione had forgotten how dark and forbidding the place had looked, how large it was and the completely unwelcoming vibe it sent out. What she had not forgotten, however, was the unfaithful day she had been within those walls and tortured.

Bile rose up in her throat. She was abruptly very unsure about this.

Hesitantly, she followed him to the large door. He either did not remember the day she, Harry and Ron had been brought here, which she thought highly unlikely, or he did not see any reason to acknowledge it, which was the more likely option. She clenched her shaking hands and hoped to god she didn't look as fearful as she felt.

"Move it!" he snarled from ahead.

Hastily, she jogged up to him and found her voice. "You are aware that an Unbreakable Vow is, well, unbreakable?"

"No Granger, I had absolutely no idea," he drawled.

"No, I mean you could die if you break it," she said, exasperated.

He gasped mockingly. "No! Are you sure?"

She frowned disapprovingly but otherwise ignored his immaturity. "Who's going to be the Bonder, then?"

"My mother or father." He glanced down at her from the corner of his eye to catch her reaction and was not disappointed. Her eyes had gone wider than they had been, and if she'd been reluctant before, it was nothing compared to this.

"Your…?" She blinked, once again unaware that she was falling behind. "How must they be feeling, shouldn't they be appalled or – or –?"

"Not quite as appalled as myself by your inability to keep up," Malfoy growled. "Come _on!"_

She did as she was told, the uneasiness creeping further into her stomach. They were very close to the stone steps now, where they lend up to the huge dark doors she'd been dragged through only four years previous.

"I really don't think this is such a good idea," she said quietly, her foot on the first step.

Malfoy stopped and scowled at her. "This needn't be necessary if you hadn't been so unwilling to take my word."

"What did you expect? Working with me was ridiculous enough on your part, but living with me?" She shook her head disbelievingly. "I'd be thick to let that one slide too."

"Then I shouldn't be hearing any more whinging about this." He wheeled around, not waiting for a reply.

Hermione thought about saying more, but saw no point. He wouldn't listen anyway. She went through the door, following Malfoy all the way through the large manor, up flights of stairs and down countless hallways. She anxiously looked around, the feeling of sticking out like a sore thumb inevitable. She did not belong in this house. Yet, strangely enough, she knew she wouldn't be harmed unlike her last visit. Four years ago things were very different in comparison to now. Now, there was no Voldemort and only a handful of families still concerned with blood purity. She knew she was not welcomed here, nor would she ever be no matter how many years passed, but Hermione was sure that it was not dangerous. There was no danger or threat lurking behind any door she passed. Not anymore.

At last, Malfoy walked through a large archway and a rather beautiful sitting room came into view. She was thankful it wasn't the same room she'd been brought to and tortured, but she also wasn't thrilled to see Lucius Malfoy sitting on a spacious armchair, a bored expression on his face as he read the _Daily Prophet._

"Father," Malfoy said.

He gazed up then, his face neutral until he noticed his son was not the only one in the room. Lucius' eyes narrowed and his lips pressed together into a straight line. "Draco… Ms. Granger…"

"Mr. Malfoy," Hermione greeted with a firm nod.

There was a moment of awkward silence, and then Lucius asked, "Why is she here? How did you get her here?"

"I came… somewhat willingly," Hermione answered, a little annoyed he wanted to speak about her as though she were not there.

"Really?" he asked, cocking his head to the side and eyeing her with fascination. It unsettled her. "And what would possess you to do that, if I may enquire?"

"Trusting you understand what's going on, your son's agreed to have an Unbreakable Vow done, with you as our Bonder it seems." She saw vaguely from the corner of her eye Malfoy grimace as Lucius' attention shifted to him.

"_What?"_ he demanded coolly.

Malfoy shifted nervously. "Well, you see Father, when you say it the way Granger just did… of course it's going to sound bad, but –"

"Ms. Granger, would you kindly go down the stairs and give us a moment?" Lucius said through a clenched jaw.

Hermione nodded, though she felt her consent on the matter didn't matter much, Lucius would force her out if he had to. As she left the room, Malfoy shot her a dark look. Straight away she knew she was going to be in for it when his father was finished with him.

Hermione stood at the end of the staircase leading up to the hallway she had just vacated, and bit her lip, waiting awkwardly in a foreign house. Being left with nothing but dead silence, she was succumbed once again to her unanswered questions. What would, well not Ron at the moment, but Harry and Ginny say once she told them what had happened? Yesterday, when Malfoy had waltzed in and announced he'd work for her, she'd been so shocked, so bewildered, that when he'd left she was uncertain whether or not she had in fact heard him right.

But now that she was actually in his _house,_ a place she had seen in her nightmares since that horrible day, it made her finally realise the seriousness of the situation. He was desperate for something; so desperate he would spend three hundred and sixty-five days of his life with her.

But what could drive someone to do something so hypocritical towards everything he'd believed in?

Hermione wrinkled up her nose at the thought of seeing him everyday. There was no question about it, she was maturer and kinder than Malfoy, but even she couldn't pretend to be understanding or polite about staying with him. She wanted to believe she could do this, that she could put up with him for an extra year. But when Hermione looked back on all his taunts and snide words during their Hogwarts years, she faltered and felt herself doubt the ability to. There was only so much a person could take, and in her option, seven years was more than enough.

She'd been so absorbed in her own thoughts; she supposed she did not hear the distant yelling from the staircase until it grew much audible. Unsure, she put her foot on the first step, debating if she should interrupt.

Hermione had taken about two more reluctant steps up the stairs when a voce said from behind, "I would not interfere if I were you."

Hermione turned with a start and came face to face with Narcissa Malfoy, who was leaning against the railing of the stairs, a knowing look on her face as she, too, listened to the shouting.

"It's not quite as bad as it sometimes gets," she said faintly. "Sometimes, they yell so much I can hear them from the other end of the house."

That was unexpected. Malfoy used to idolise his father. As far as she knew, he never dared question him. Now they were yelling at each other? She wondered wildly if Lucius had ever physically hurt Malfoy during this frequent yelling.

"If I'm allowed to ask…" Hermione paused. "What do they normally yell about?"

"Just about everything," she said, still looking to where the yells issued from. "Since the war… things have been difficult. Draco's also older now, so he will often contradict Lucius."

"I'm sorry," Hermione murmured, wincing as Lucius' voice boomed through the house. She could not imagine living with these two and hearing this repeatedly.

"Don't be."

"DO YOU FULLY REALISE THE CONSEQUENCES FOR WHAT YOU ARE ASKING ME TO DO?" Lucius roared again. "IF YOU DON'T FOLLOW THROUGH IT MAY COST YOU YOUR LIFE!"

"WHAT'S SO WRONG WITH THAT, HUH?" Malfoy shouted. "WHAT HAVE I GOT TO LIVE FOR HERE, THE LOOKS PEOPLE GIVE US ON THE STREETS, THE WAY ONLY NO ONE EVEN SPEAKS TO US ANYMORE?"

Narcissa, looking very upset, ushered Hermione around the corner, down a few more stairs and into what she identified as the kitchen. It did little to hide the noise.

"Now," she said, plastering on a smile, "tea, coffee, pumpkin juice? What would you like?"

"Oh, um, tea would be nice. Thanks," she said awkwardly, tuning out the voices.

"Molly!" Narcissa called, poking her head out of the kitchen. "Come make two cups of tea, would you?"

With speed that still amazed Hermione, a house elf with very, very large ears (unusually large even for an elf) trotted into the kitchen. She was wearing a purple dress, Hermione was glad to see, rather than filthy rags.

The elf conjured up a little wooden stool and jumped onto it to retrieve the kettle from the counter she could not reach, then she pointed her long fingers at it, and the kettle flew over to the sink, where water began to fill.

"So," Narcissa said, pulling up a chair and gesturing to Hermione to take one herself, "how are you taking the news?"

"About Malfoy working and then sharing a flat with me?"

She nodded.

"Oh, well… not that particularly well, to be honest… I mean –"

"You do not trust him," she stated over the sound of the kettle boiling.

Hermione squirmed uncomfortably in her seat, having difficultly meeting Narcissa's eyes. "It's – it's not that – of course not –"

"Don't be embarrassed. I expect anyone in your position would be uncomfortable with it."

Hermione rubbed her eyes. "It's my fault they're yelling up there."

"Why is that?"

"Well, because I didn't really trust… Draco… he decided on something that would make this all much easier to."

"Which was?"

She took a loud breath. "An Unbreakable Vow."

Narcissa went silent and watched as Molly bounded over, placing a teacup in front of her. The elf trotted over to Hermione and did the same.

"Thank you," Hermione said to her, receiving a little smile in turn. Hermione took a testing sip of the hot beverage and peered at the woman from over her cup, who still had not said anything. "Narcissa…" she began, setting the tea back down with a small clink, "I – I'm sure Mal – _Draco _knows what he is doing. I wasn't sure whether to agree, but I really don't see myself doing this any other way… I'll make sure the vows are accurate and there are no loopholes in them whatsoever and –"

Lucius and Malfoy burst into the kitchen at that precise moment. Both flushed in the face from anger, looked at the scene before them: Narcissa Malfoy and Hermione Granger were having a cup of tea together.

"What's –?" started Malfoy.

"What's going on?" Lucius took over.

"Nothing." Narcissa flashed a small smile at Hermione, and she breathed out in relief. For one horrible second, Hermione thought she had upset her. She didn't know the woman well enough to care, but she did understand the magnitude of what she was asking. Of course, it was hardly Hermione's fault. Malfoy was the one who needed her, for whatever reason, not the other way around. "Are you ready to preform the vow?"

"Yes," Malfoy replied instantly, ignoring the look his father shot him.

"Lets go into the living room then, shall we?" Narcissa went out the room quickly, and maybe her son and husband were fooled by her forced pleasantness, but Hermione was not. She was scared.

* * *

"All right, Draco – Ms. Granger – if you could both come and stand in front of me," Lucius instructed, suddenly very serious.

Hermione and Malfoy did as he said. Their eyes locked briefly, and Hermione saw that Malfoy did not look very unconcerned, which she thought odd because if it had been her, she would've been more than a little nervous.

Lucius pulled out his wand, and Hermione dropped her gaze from Malfoy and looked over at Narcissa instead, who was sitting very still with her legs crossed on the couch.

"Do you know what vows we'll be using?" asked Lucius.

"I want no one hurt from this year. Intentionally," Hermione added to clarify. "And I want the house elves to be safe."

"That's two. We need one more." He looked at his son. "Draco?"

Malfoy thought for a moment. Hermione suspected he had already thought of what he'd like the last one to be if given the chance, because he didn't appear to actually be thinking about it at all.

"I don't want to see her again once this is finished," he said finally.

Lucius looked at him. Narcissa shifted anxiously and asked, "There's no other option? Is this really necessary?"

Hermione met her eyes, guiltily. "I'm not… I can't do this without it. I'm sorry, really. But it's just too hard otherwise."

"A contract?" she suggested.

"No, and I don't mean to be rude, but if this deal is being used for something dangerous, like taking a life or world dominance or… whatever," she said lamely, "having a few boils on your skin isn't going to effectively discourage –"

"You really think that little of us, don't you?" Malfoy sneered.

"No, but – but you know what I mean. I'd prefer to do this –"

"The difficult way," he finished.

"It was your idea!"

Lucius cleared his throat. "Be quiet, both of you. I'd like to get this over and done with. Now, the vows, you are both in accepting conditions of them?"

Hermione nodded and Malfoy grunted something that sounded like an agreement.

There was a silence that followed in which nothing happened, then Lucius said impatiently, "Well, take hold of each others arms. We haven't got all day."

With another unintelligent groan, Malfoy held out his arm, and like when they had Apparated, he had the same look of disgust while Hermione distastefully grasped onto his arm, trying not to wince when he took an unnecessary hard grip.

Lucius held his wand over Hermione and Malfoy's arms, and it may have been just her imagination, but the whole room seemed much darker and colder than it had before.

When no one made any protests, much as Lucius would have liked, he pressed the tip of his wand on their hands and began.

"Will you, Draco Malfoy, treat every house elf you come across from this day of July fifteen, 2002, to July fifteen, 2003, with, no matter how much you resent it, respect to the best of your abilities?"

"I will," he said, watching the tongue of fire thicken and begin to wind itself around their linked hands.

"Will you swear, under no exceptions, that no witch, wizard, Squib or Muggle will severely suffer any negative outcome you purposely inflict upon him or her due to the required year?"

He paused for only a second. "I will."

Lucius began to circle the pair. "And will you, once your purpose is complete, and you have successfully engaged yourself to Ophelia Hopkins, leave Hermione Granger's life?"

Both Hermione and Malfoy's eyes met.

"I will."

* * *

**they're going to regret that last one when - spoiler alert - they fall in lurrrve. **

**next chapter: draco moves in. there's some yelling after .02 seconds of his moving in. hermione attempts to wake draco up by bashing kitchen utensils together, and blaise drops by, thus surrounding hermione with hot slytherins. **


	7. slytherin ambush

"You're sure you don't want my help?"

Malfoy glared at Hermione as he roughly shoved past her and levitated his luggage through the door.

She watched him follow his bags up the stairs, wand pointed, directing them further up into his designated room until he emerged once again. He stomped down the carpeted stairs, pushed Hermione with his shoulder again, and went to retrieve more of his luggage.

Hermione sighed to herself when he stepped inside the lift for what had to be at least the fifth time, and was out of sight once the cream coloured doors had closed.

Was it really only yesterday he'd shown up in her office? Had it really only been this afternoon when he'd interrupted her meeting? It felt as though weeks had passed rather than two days. She glanced up at the wooden grandfather clock near the television and stifled a yawn: it was 9:37pm.

Hermione tiredly went over to the fridge as she heard the door being barged through again followed by two more bags floating up the stairs with a very disgruntled Malfoy trailing behind. She pulled out a bag of oranges to briefly satisfy her hunger (it was too late to even bother cooking a real meal) and began cutting up pieces with her wand, eating as she went.

"Brilliant!" Malfoy exclaimed, coming down the stairs. "What am I supposed to eat?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "There is food in the fridge, you know."

He stared at her incredulously. "You actually expect me to… to _eat_ the _same_ food as you?"

"Uh, yes." She popped another cut up piece of orange in her mouth.

"I'm not eating the same food as you," he said firmly. "There's no telling what you've done with it or how filthy it is."

Irritation surged through her. Hermione reminded herself not to let him get to her – she was better than that. Be civil. "Well, Malfoy, I'm sorry to say but you'll just have to scavenge for your own food then."

"Malfoys don't scavenge," he said, disgusted. "That's yours and Weasley's kind. Tell me, how is he? Sprouted out any children yet, or haven't you had the wealth to keep them? Have you had to sell any?"

"Keep your mouth shut," she spat with so much venom laced into her words, that for a moment he seemed taken aback. However, Malfoy soon recovered, a triumphant look on his face.

"Ooh, I've hit a nerve, have I? So I'm presuming you have had to sell a child?"

And before Hermione could even process what she was doing, she had hurled the rest of the orange at him, watching it bounce straight off his forehead.

For a moment he could only gape at her, his hand slowly coming up to touch the wet spot where the fruit had collided with his head, as though he could not believe what had happened. Malfoy then looked down, staring at the mangled fruit. He stomped on the orange with his shoe, leaving a right juicy mess.

"I believe that's what monkeys do too, throw food. Very sophisticated on your part, Mudblood," he sneered.

Shooting him a very dark look, Hermione forcibly crammed the oranges back in the fridge and slammed the door shut before storming past him and also slamming the bathroom door behind her.

Draco marched after her to the bathroom door and pounded his fist against it. "GRANGER! Who stepped up and made you in charge? Who said you get to have the first shower?"

"I did!" she shouted back.

He laughed without mirth. "Oh of course you did! Typical Granger, always in charge, always the boss, as long as everything goes her way she's content –"

"SHUT UP!"

"YOU SHUT UP!" Draco could not believe the nerve of this woman – _how dare she tell him to shut up?_

The sound of the shower being turned on reached Draco's ears and he kicked the door, vowing to himself he'd set her right once she got out of the shower. He strode to the lounge room, sat down with a huff and picked up the same copy of the _Daily Prophet_ his father had been reading earlier.

Draco flicked through its contents with uncalled for viciousness, bored with it already. The _Daily Prophet _was not quite as interesting as it may have once been. The falling of Voldemort and many of his followers led to lesser and lesser news worth knowing. Now, the paper had resorted to cooking recipes, which witch and wizard were getting married, who was having children, ads for some strange, weird box things Draco did not recognise, but guessed them to be something Muggle related, and very so often a missing witch or wizard picture. Draco did not think anyone else had noticed, but the amount of missing people was, slowly, but surely becoming more and more frequent. He glanced down at a picture on the right side of the page he was currently on and could have sworn he had heard the name of the wizard before, not that that was peculiar or anything, but there was just a strange feeling about the name… as though he was supposed to remember something about it…

The shower stopped then, breaking Draco's thoughts and forcing him back to reality. He had almost forgotten to be annoyed. Almost.

Hermione dried her hair, feeling much more relaxed than she had all day. Usually before bed she would read with Crookshanks in her lap, although considering today had been a far cry from 'normal', she was exhausted and had a definite plan to flop face first down on her mattress the instant she was in her room.

Hanging her towel on the golden hook of her door and breathing in the smell of her shampoo, she had just set foot out into the hall when Malfoy suddenly came into view and effectively blocked her path.

She crossed her arms over her chest. "What now? The bathroom's free."

"I think we need to get some things straight," he said darkly. "If we're going to be stuck together for a year, there needs to be some rules and regulations. That way, we can make this whole _lovely_experience that much simpler for ourselves. With me so far?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and nodded, if only to get this speech over and done with.

He breathed out. "First things first, I get the shower before you, _always._ Second, when I go out and buy my own food, under no circumstances will you go anywhere near it – especially apples. Third, you are not to touch any of my belongings without my consent, but I advise you don't even bother to ask because unless I am close to death, the answer will be no. Fourth, if I bring a lady home with me, you make yourself scarce. Fifth, you and I do not wash our clothes together and we have a clear understanding on who owns what. Sixth, if I so much get a glimpse of Potter, Weasley or anyone else I hate in here, I will hex them out and will not be responsible for my actions. Seventh, now this is one of the most important, I want _you_ to keep as far away from _me_ as possible. Is that clear?"

"Get out of my way," Hermione said tightly, staring into his chest and willing for him to disappear. She thought if she were to say what she really wanted to, she'd never stop. He wanted her to retaliate, she reminded herself. She would not take the bait.

"Not until you agree."

"I'm not agreeing because this is my flat to begin with and I can just as easily kick you out!" Her voice rose of its own accord.

"No, you can't. We did an Unbreakable Vow, Granger. I'm here to stay."

Hermione bit back from screaming in frustration and seriously began to consider whether or not she should just move out and leave it to him. But she was no coward. She was a Gryffindor, damn it, and she would not be driven out of her own home by the likes of Malfoy.

"Yes, I heard you," she mumbled. "Now, _move_."

He stepped aside, grey eyes not leaving hers until she closed the door.

* * *

Hermione woke to a mouthful of orange fur as usual. Coughing, she gently nudged Crookshanks off and headed for the bathroom to wash her face.

When she strode down the stairs, she was not surprised that Malfoy was nowhere to be seen. She glanced up at his closed door and figured him not to be a morning person.

Inwardly grinning to herself as a wickedly childish idea occurred to her, she climbed back up the stairs to the hall where their rooms were lined against, and then proceeded to stomp her feet as loud as she could, pacing back and forth, down and up the hall before doing the same as she stamped down the stairs with Crookshanks in toe, meowing noisily after her.

When that still did not wake him, she went down into the kitchen, pulling open draw after draw until she found what she needed. Going back up, she hit the large frying pan with a metal ladle, satisfied by the amount of noise issuing from it and retraced her earlier steps.

"Granger!" someone called from down the stairs.

She jumped and whirled around to see Malfoy carrying a heap of grocery bags, looking up at her with amusement. "Do I, um," he clucked his tongue, "want to know what it is you are doing?"

Hermione shoved both kitchen utensils behind her back, blushing. "I don't know what you're talking about –" She stopped at his disbelieving expression and sighed, muttering, "No, I don't suppose you do."

He eyed her with curiosity for a moment longer, Hermione flushing ferociously the entire time, and then went very slowly to the kitchen, looking more than a little stupefied as he glanced continuously behind his back.

Hermione ran her hand through her hair; her cheeks red hot and looked down at Crookshanks. "This is all your fault," she accused.

His head cocked to the side.

"All your fault," she repeated.

He meowed and licked a paw to clean his ear.

"Granger, if the stress is really starting to get to you and you're finally going to start acting as insane as your hair, I suggest you tell someone about it instead of blaming that…" Malfoy gestured to Crookshanks, _"thing."_

"Crookshanks is a he, not a thing."

He smirked as he bit into an apple before strolling out of view again.

Hermione, flushing even brighter yet, went into the kitchen to cook herself up some breakfast, determined to forget the embarrassing start to the first day. Chopping up strawberries and bananas whilst her porridge heated up in the microwave (she liked to cook the Muggle way sometimes), Crookshanks began to wind himself around her legs, purring loudly.

"I'll feed you in a moment," she snapped.

Just then, there was a loud sound of voices coming from the living room and then Malfoy's yell of, "Holy fuck! What the hell is this?"

Groaning, Hermione abandoned breakfast and went off to the lounge room. She clasped her hands over her ears as she neared and ran over to turn off the television.

Malfoy let out a sigh of relief when the noise had stopped, and lowered his own hands away from his head.

"What is that thing?" he demanded.

"It's called a television. More and more of them are being to be used by wizards these days, haven't you bothered to notice?"

He frowned. "I saw some in the _Daily Prophet_."

"Yes… they're televisions."

"What are they for?"

"You watch things on them," she explained, wondering away.

"What kind of things?" he demanded again, following her.

"Eh, I don't know," she said distractedly, taking the bowl out of the microwave. "I suppose all sorts. People act on it and you watch how everything will plan out for the main characters."

"Like books?" He leaned against the counter, watching her chuck in the bananas and strawberries.

"Yes, like books but only you just have to watch and listen to what they're saying, rather than read."

His nose wrinkled. "I'd prefer the books."

Hermione's gaze snapped to his, a little stunned. If he were anyone else, she would have agreed with him and may have asked about which books he liked and which ones he didn't, but Malfoy was not Harry or Ron – not that they read anyway – so she kept her mouth shut, and took her bowl over to the dinning table where she could finally eat breakfast.

The door bust open then, and Hermione almost choked on her porridge when a tall olive skinned man entered. His dark eyes scanned the room, resting only for a moment on Hermione, when they abruptly brightened as they landed on Malfoy.

"Draco, mate!" he greeted.

"Blaise." Malfoy smirked at Hermione's horrified look. "Granger, you remember Blaise Zabini?"

Hermione looked between the two men, and for the second time in three days she felt like the odd one out.

Slytherins outnumbered her in her own home.

* * *

**next chapter: some blaise and hermione interaction. hermione says something to draco that has him storming out of the flat, and some past secrets of draco's are revealed. DUN DUN DUNN. i feel like this is a soap opera summarising it all up like this aha. **


	8. the sting of words

_"I try to find something to love in everybody. Even if it's a small thing. Something about the way someone smiles. There's always something, there has to be. I try to make myself generous. I do things I don't want to do. I… I think about what not to criticize. And the strangest things come back to me."_

— _Erin Cressida Wilson_

* * *

Hermione wanted to leave. No scratch that, she wanted to do some serious stunt rolls and leave in a James Bond kind of way. But then she remembered the Unbreakable Vow and abstained from drowning herself in her porridge. She tried not to look agitated as she glanced up at her, no bloody _Malfoy's_ visitor, not wanting either of them to think they bothered her but, well, truthfully Hermione got frustrated easily on an empty stomach and she had a feeling it was just going to be one of those days.

"Granger." Blaise nodded briefly in her direction, observing his surroundings.

"Zabini," she greeted wearily back, following his gaze as it lingered critically on her furniture and decor, from the wilted flowers on the table she was sitting at to the large wooden clock on the opposite wall to her less-than-amazing sofas.

"I must say," he drawled, strutting further into her home as if he owned it, "it's a tad off seeing you without Potter and Weasley glued by your side, I'd almost forgotten you were separate people."

Malfoy snickered at his comment, not acknowledging the glower Hermione sent his way.

"So, Draco, is this where you're loitering yourself for, what was it, a year?" he asked.

He smirked. "Unfortunately."

Zabini strolled further around without permission, much to Hermione's chagrin, still curiously examining everything. When his eyes landed on the photograph of her, Harry and Ron above the fireplace, all grinning widely, did he turn around to look at his fellow Slytherin. "I pity you."

"_What_?" Hermione exclaimed. "You pity him? Have you any idea how difficult he is to live with?"

"Yeah, I do. And correct me if I'm wrong, but hasn't he only stayed one night?"

"Which is more than enough!"

"Yes, because this must be so hard on you without Potter and Weasel attached at your hip," Malfoy added dryly.

"Oh, like it is without Crabbe, Goyle and Astoria to yours?"

From the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Zabini tense, and she knew the mistake of her words almost instantly. It had been four years since she had last laid eyes on Zabini. Hermione can't say she got a particularly good look of him at the time, what with the massive flames and smoke circling them. She knew she would never, ever forget what had happened in Room of Requirement – the curse Crabbe cast, the desperation and determination to get to safety, the feeling of heat as it singed her skin, the screaming, the yelling, Malfoy's shouts not to kill her, Harry or Ron.

She hadn't forgotten that.

But what may have slipped her mind then and there was that, despite Malfoy's attempts to save them – Crabbe and Goyle had both perished in the fire. She felt guilty to say the least, not sparing them a second thought as she went off with Ron, Harry soon following behind. Hermione remembered vaguely the way they'd left Malfoy slouched against the wall helpless and teary.

She realised now with a pang that though Crabbe and Goyle may not mean as much to him as Harry or Ron did to her, he had grown up with both boys. It's unlikely to spend several years with the two same people and not develop some sort of like or familiarity towards them.

In front of her, Malfoy's expression was now utterly blank, very different to the clear signs of irritation before, and the little colour he had in his face was completely drained. He could have passed for a corpse.

"Malfoy – listen – I didn't –"

"You just forgot, I'm guessing?" Zabini said heatedly.

"No! Of course I – I never –" But her fumbling words were not heard over the sound of the door being harshly banged shut, silver blond hair disappearing from view, leaving a heavy silence in his wake.

She rubbed her temples, bitting her lip in shame and avoided Zabini's cold glare.

"You don't even realise what he's been through, do you?" He paused as if waiting for her answer, when it did not come he went on. "Malfoy was no hero during the war, I know that, nor was I. But we're not killers, no matter how much we tried to be back then, and we also lost people. It may come as a shock to you Granger, but Slytherins have feelings. They may not go quite as deep and humble as yours and your silly Gryffindor pals, but they're there. We're people too."

"I know that," Hermione said impatiently, her attention fixed on her deserted porridge, "but what I want to know is why he's allowed to treat me like rubbish, yet when the tables are turned, it's not okay for me to slip up?"

He walked closer to her. "Because two wrongs don't make a right. He can be a git sometimes –"

"Always," she corrected under her breath.

"– but he has lost people, just as you have. Not to mention basically every witch and wizard hates the sight of him."

"Harry's been through that numerous of occasions."

"He has," he agreed, "but those were for completely different reasons and Draco and Potter handle things differently… sometimes. I have picked up some similarities."

"Can Malfoy speak parseltongue too?" she asked offhandedly.

Blaise gave a snort, though before that Hermione was sure she had coaxed a small laugh out of him. She looked up, partly from surprise, and met his chocolate eyes as he leaned on the opposite end of the table. "He tried to once. After that duel in second year. He was so jealous of Potter, I remember hearing him practising quietly to himself when he thought everyone was asleep."

Hermione snorted to cover up her own amusement, but Blaise saw this. With her eyes still on his, she took a chance and offered up a smile, which he returned very hesitantly, at first, before he gave in completely and grinned.

Blaise had changed, she noticed. He'd talked to her without looking for a fight, had expressed his opinions with a certainty and determination for her to see his side of things. There was no kind of friendliness or even like behind what he was saying, only a clear aim to defend Malfoy. And Hermione couldn't help but appreciate that Blaise was putting in the effort to explain this to her, as if getting her to understand the Slytherin point of view mattered. And now, strangely and out of nowhere, they were… sharing a joke? And not at either one's expense either. Even stranger, it didn't feel as strange as she thought it would.

They lapsed into silence for a few seconds. Then, she turned in her seat to face him properly, moving aside her breakfast and crossing her arms on the table.

"So, at an estimate, how long would you say Malfoy practised parseltongue for?"

* * *

Draco was fuming. He couldn't believe the audacity of that little bucktoothed know-it-all. How dare she say such things to him? How dare she speak to him like that? He may be working for her and she may be human enough to let him stay with her, but damn it all! She was _not _allowed to have an attitude with him! And out of all the things she could have said, she had picked the worst. Not only did Granger know one of his weakest spots, but he also had nothing truly hurtful enough to say back at her. No doubt when he returned she'd hurl apology after apology at him.

He wanted to hex something, and the staring people around him as he stormed past were awfully tempting.

Draco hadn't thought about what had happened to Crabbe and Goyle in a long time. He didn't miss them per say, but over the years he had grown use to their presence. Somehow though, even if they were still here with him, Draco doubted they'd be actually _with_ him. He had a fairly good hunch that just like the rest of his 'friends', they would have abandoned him too. The only former classmate who was perfectly content with being seen in public with him was Blaise. And considering everything that had been said about him in the _Daily Prophet_ and the public in general, the fact that Blaise was still willingly by his side as though nothing had changed meant a lot to Draco. But he'd never say that to Blaise's face. He may have learned a fair bit since the final battle, but he was still a Malfoy, still a proud Slytherin, still had his pride and ego to uphold, and he did not wear his feelings on his sleeve. Blaise knew how he felt without Draco actually having it say it.

This meant he knew a lot about Draco where Granger did not. She hadn't known, but when she'd said what she had, it was not Crabbe and Goyle that had him upset. It had been the mention of Astoria Greengrass.

He'd never loved her. Heck, Draco wished he had, things would have been simpler. He'd met Astoria through Daphne back in fifth year. At the time he and Pansy had been newly going out and the confirmation of their new relationship made it enviable to avoid Pansy's goddamn silly friends. Daphne Greengrass was among them, and with Daphne there was Astoria and her own group of little friends. Draco had never paid her much mind, after all she had only been a third year and he wasn't one for babbling thirteen-year-old olds.

But after the few hundred times Pansy had dragged him over to her friends to aimlessly bitch about whatever friend was absent at the appointed time, and with nothing to do but sit there and pretend to be following everything that was said, Draco would occasionally initiate a conversation with the only other person who seemed to have little interest in the surrounding gossip. It soon progressed and both he and Astoria would do this every time Pansy forced him to follow around her minions. And it carried on until sixth year where things had become… unpleasant for him. Draco had not only distanced himself from Pansy that year, but Blaise and Astoria too.

Draco remembered with startling accuracy the latter's refusal to leave him be…

* * *

_"__I'm not going anywhere! Not until you tell me what's going on!_ "

_"__I can't tell you!" Draco snarled, pacing back and forth. There was no point denying her accusations; where Daphne lacked in brains, Astoria did not._

_"__Why not?" she cried, desperation edging into her voice. "Blaise doesn't even know what you're doing!"_

_"__And if you know what's good for you, you'll follow his example and leave me be! This is far beyond your years, Astoria!"_

_"__Come off it Draco, I'm two years younger than you."_

_"__Meaning you're fourteen. A child!"_

_"__I'm not a child! Why do you always…"_

_Her abrupt silence made Draco stop his pacing and finally face her. Her mouth had formed a large 'O' and had this been under completely different circumstances, Draco would have told her to close it before the wind freezes her expression that way. It was a terrible joke, he knew, and referred back to his previous statement: he still saw her as a kid._

_She swallowed, her hazel eyes now wide with shock rather than anger. "Is it… this thing…" she gestured lamely with her hands, "what it is you're doing… is it for… for You-Know-Who?"_

_Draco looked down at the suddenly interesting stone floor and absentmindedly kicked a piece of chalk. The soft echo it made as it skidded to the other end of the empty classroom seemed much louder than it actually was._

_"__I can help you."_

_Draco's head snapped up at her words. She wasn't looking at him but the chalk, acting as though she had just suggested having a delightful tea party on the Quidditch field rather than help him fulfil the darkest wizard of the age's desires. Her ease at what she had said spurred fury within him. Did she have any idea what he was capable of? Was Astoria really like everyone else, did she see this all as some kind of great honour? True, when Draco had first been given his task, he had accepted it in a way of hoping to prove himself – finally he would get the glory he'd always deserved, finally he had a real chance to make his parents proud._

_It was amazing how someone can believe in one thing before it happens, and then have such different views when it actually becomes a reality._

_Draco shook his head, a bitter smile toying on his lips. "And you say you're not a child."_

_She looked away from the chalk and fixed him with a hard glare. "I'm not. Am I running away screaming? No."_

_He scoffed. "It'd be much more preferable, normal, if you did. You're ignorant for hiding your fear."_

_"__There is no fear," she said tensely._

_"__Maybe that's because you can't fully grasp the seriousness of the situation then," he hissed._

_"__What's he ordered you to do then, huh?" she demanded, crossing her arms._

_"__Why on earth would I tell you?"_

_"__Because I would tell you!" she shrieked. "I would tell you before any of my friends, I would tell you before my own sister! You know how I feel about you Draco!"_

_He cringed like he always did whenever Astoria mentioned her feelings for him. He'd be in some serious denial if he said the year they'd spent having conversations around Pansy's lot hadn't formed a friendship. But that was all Draco ever wanted it to be – friendship. Nothing more. _

_"__I'd prefer it if we didn't talk about your… feelings for the moment," he muttered._

_"__Yes, lets just ignore Astoria's feelings because she's a silly little girl. They don't matter," she said mockingly._

_It was times like these which made Draco realise why he could never love her. Sometimes, she really was too much like Pansy for his comfort. _

_"__I'm with someone else," he said, running a hand through his hair. How he wanted to leave this classroom and go to bed… sleeping forever was an appealing idea._

_"__Please," she drawled, "you lost any affection for Parkinson a long time ago."_

_She was wrong, but he was not about to sit and explain his messed up relationship with Pansy when even he didn't understand it. Draco exhaled heavily. "I don't see you as anything but a friend. I don't love you."_

_Something shifted in her expression, but before Draco could tell whether or not he had hurt her feelings, she had pushed past him to the door. "One way or another, you'll wish you had."_

_She left the room, leaving Draco alone as her words repeated in his head._

* * *

Little did he know at the time just how true that statement had been.

Draco was pulled out of his reminiscing when someone clasped him on the back. He jerked round, hand going for his wand when he realised with a start that it was only Blaise.

He smirked. "Knew you'd be around here somewhere. You know, Granger's not that horrible."

"Who?" Draco asked stupidly, not really noticing when Blaise pulled him down to sit on a nearby bench.

"Granger." When Draco continued staring at him, his frown deepened. "You know, Hermione Granger? House-elves. Potter. Weasley. Bushy hair. Punched you in the face. Ringing any bells?"

"Oh, yeah, right. Her." His nose wrinkled at the thought of Granger. "I don't like her – wait, did you just say she's _not that bad?"_

Blaise grinned, his eyes flickering to something behind Draco and then back. "We're not friends or anything, but she's tolerable."

"I cannot believe this. Did she alter your memory or something? Did she give you anything to eat or drink…?"

"Nope. I just didn't go out of my way to annoy her and she responded."

"I'm going to ignore that completely and – what on earth are you looking at?" he demanded, turning around on the bench to get a better look, although, he didn't think there was anything worth looking at in Muggle London.

"There's a bar over there," Blaise said simply.

"And?"

"And I think we could do with a few drinks. Just don't go overboard because you still need to be in a fit state to Apparate back to…"

The rest of what he had been saying was lost on Draco, for he was already eagerly making his way to the bar, having made up his mind quickly. A few drinks certainly did sound good.

* * *

**next chapter: draco returns to the apartment... not exactly sober. hermione's stuck with him and a surprise visitor that isn't blaise and won't be too happy if they catch sight of draco, meaning it's up to her to hide him. **


	9. thud

The whack of the door shutting startled Hermione so much that she shrieked, and the book that had been resting on her chest fell to the floor, completely forgotten. She went around the couch where she'd been snoozing, hand reaching for her wand.

She sighed in annoyance when she caught sign of the disturbance.

"It's you," she said bluntly. Glancing over at the poor door, it occurred to her that it had never properly been closed since a certain _someone's _arrival. Briefly, she wondered how much more abuse it could take before she'd have to replace it.

"Don't sound too thrilled, Granger. You might pull something." Malfoy walked past her and clumsily up the stairs, where he stumbled every few steps. The stench of firewhiskey reeked off of him.

"Are you –?"

"Drunk? Not enough to have me crawling on the floor and quacking, but enough for your hair to have eyes."

Hermione (glancing in a mirror at her eye_less_ hair) leant on the railing as Malfoy disappeared into his bedroom, disapproval etched onto her face. "May I enquire as to why?"

"No you may not."

She paused. "Is it because of what – of what I said?"

"Noooo." It became clear to her that, when drunk, Malfoy was a horrible liar.

"Listen, about that, I really think we need to discuss what –"

"We don't," he told her sourly.

From where Hermione was standing, all she could see of his room was one side of the bed and hastily shifted her gaze to her hands when she saw his pants and shirt being thrown off carelessly. Apparently, drunken Malfoys didn't care who saw them naked either. Albeit, it wouldn't have been a surprise to her if he was like this whilst sober too.

"You really shouldn't get intoxicated to suppress feelings," she said in what Ron would call her McGonagall voice, only quieter. But Malfoy's sudden appearance and the dark look he was sending her way told Hermione that he had heard anyway.

Malfoy pushed his arm through the sleeve of his pyjama shirt, tugging it down. He then slowly and unsteadily trampled down the stairs. "You want me to express my feelings? _Fine."_

And quite without warning, he was suddenly a mere foot in front of her. Firewhiskey engulfed her senses, and Hermione tried not to screw up her face at the smell. His cologne on the other hand… a musky spicy smell that she couldn't name but for the spearmint, she liked very much.

Unexpectedly, he leaned in closer. His hand held a strong grip on her arm to prevent from any escape, his fingers digging onto the thin fabric her shirt as she felt his hot breath wisp across her neck. Hermione shivered when his lips were mere centimetres from her ear.

"I _hate _you," he whispered, his mouth barely caressing her hair. "Every time I see you, all I can think about is how much you infuriate me. You don't even know how much I never wanted to see you again. Once the war was over, that was about one of the few things I had to look forward to; the probability that I'd _never_ have to see your stupid little bushy head again or hear your stupidly annoying, bossy voice echoing through the Great Hall." His voice had turned bitter, and Hermione flinched at his next words. "But because life seems to enjoy _fucking _with me, I'm stuck again with you. Four years later, you're still a filthy Mudblood and I still can't stand you. I _hate _you Granger, so very much."

Malfoy let go of her shoulder with unneeded force and took a step back, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.

Hermione didn't know what to make of his words. Never in her life had someone been as cruel to her as Malfoy was. She was furious that he seemed to believe he could treat her this way, but she was also completely at a loss for words. Part of her desperately wanted to curse him until he was literally demolished; to just hit and scream at the prick until her words hurt him just as much as he hurt her. But she wasn't that kind of person. She had control, and she didn't want him to know he'd bothered her. Yet, Hermione felt that the look on her face had betrayed her.

She was saved from thinking of a retort when there was a knock on the door. Malfoy stumbled past her and into the kitchen, no doubt to his 'precious apples' and with a heavy sigh she went to the door, peering through the peephole.

Her eyes went wide with panic and she muffled a gasp with her hand.

Oh no. No, no, nooo! Not him, not _now!_

"Now what?" Malfoy drawled casually, as though he hadn't been a complete arse moments before. Hermione wondered if he had bipolar.

She swallowed and considered telling her visitor that Malfoy had broken into her flat and refused to leave. That'd probably get him a punch or two, nothing less than what he deserved.

But she had gotten herself into this mess, and she needed to remind herself just whom she was living with at the moment. Of course he was going to be insulting, what else had she expected, for Malfoy to suddenly be sweet towards her? She almost laughed out loud at the thought.

"Coming!" she called at the door before rushing over to Malfoy.

He raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"It's… it's Harry. I need you to hide."

A large smirk spread across his features. "Oh? Potty's here? Lovely, let's greet him, shall we?"

She quickly blocked his way to the door. "No, I'm serious –"

"You're always serious –"

"You've got to hide. Please."

He scoffed. "I'm not hiding like some slut once the wife gets home."

"Bloody hell, yes you are!"

"Why not tell him?" he asked, obviously enjoying her discomfort. "I'm _sure _he'd be understanding."

"I want to tell him in my own time, not when he just happens to stumble upon you!"

"Hermione? It's kind of chilly out here," Harry called.

"Hold on! Malfoy, so help me god, if you don't make yourself scarce –"

"You'll what? Make me?" He snickered as his eyes drifted over her small size.

With as much strength as she could muster, Hermione pushed against his chest, willing him to move at least an inch, but he didn't. "Malfoy – please!"

"Granger, please!"

"I didn't want it to resort to this but…"

Hermione was better at spells than Malfoy, she was the better duellist, she had more experience and she was much faster than his drunken reflexes. Therefore, when she pulled out her wand and hit him with a Stupefy, he had had hardly enough time to react. She didn't use much force behind the spell, not wanting to actually hurt him, but she couldn't deny that it hadn't felt good to stun the prat.

"Hermione, seriously, what are you doing?" Harry demanded.

"Sorry, sorry, give me a moment."

Quickly, she grabbed hold of Malfoy's limp form, biting her lip as she noted his back was going to be very sore in the morning from the fall, and with dismay looked up at the stairs. The staircase wasn't very long exactly, but she seriously doubted her strength to hurl him up there. Using her wand was another option, but she didn't think she had the time. Harry was growing impatient, and if she wasted anymore time it would look more suspicious than it probably already did. So, as fast as she could, she dragged him towards the toilet that was merely located to the left.

Once inside the small space, Hermione sat him up against the wall near the sink and as far away from the toilet as she could manage; she somehow didn't think he'd be too happy if he woke up with his head in there. Then, she hastily scrambled out of the little room, closing the door behind her.

"Harry!" she greeted as normal as possible, gesturing for him to come inside.

His hair, slightly longer than it had been four years ago, was still almost as untameable as hers. Smiling, she reached out to flatten it, knowing full well by now that it was pointless.

"What took you so long?" he asked, frowning as she shut the door softly.

"Oh, um… reading. I had to finish off the chapter," she smiled.

He rolled his eyes but looked amused all the same. "Of course you were."

"So what can I do for you?"

"I know it's rather late," he sighed, "but I have to talk to you about something."

"It couldn't have waited until tomorrow evening? Not that I'm not happy with you being here," she added quickly. "It just seems like a more reasonable time."

He smiled apologetically. "Sorry, but this is important and I didn't want to wait until tomorrow."

With reluctance, Hermione led him over to the lounge and sat awkwardly beside him. _Relax,_ she told herself, _nothing's wrong._ Of course, that was a lie. She really didn't want Harry to find out about any of this, not now. She wanted to tell him when she was ready and when the both of them were as far away from Malfoy as possible. She knew Harry well enough to know that that was the best method to use with him. You don't unexpectedly throw things at him; you ease into it and make him see reason.

Playing with her fingers, she looked back over at Harry and her brows furrowed. He had the _Daily Prophet_ placed in his lap and was flicking through it so rapidly she was stunned that the pages didn't rip.

"What exactly is so important?" She hadn't remembered seeing anything interesting in the paper. There never was anymore.

"I don't know if it is important, but I've got a weird feeling about… ah, here it is." He pointed at the missing witch and wizard collum. This week, there was a middle-aged woman with dark, flat hair. She gazed up at Hermione and Harry anxiously, looking from side to side as though waiting for something to pounce on her, her eyes wide.

Still confused Hermione asked, "You know where," she looked at the name of the woman, "Margaret Hoskings is?"

"No, but what I'm getting at is after Voldemort, and once everyone recovered from the war, things were quiet, right?"

"What?"

"There were no missing persons in the _Daily Prophet,"_ he said impatiently.

"I don't know about that, Harry. People were still missing."

"I said after everything had settled. People they couldn't find from the battle only appeared missing for a certain period of time until they were either claimed dead or found. Once that died over, the _Prophet_was pretty much lacking in the missing wizards department."

"Okay…?" She still had no idea where he was going with this.

"Blimey, Hermione! People are missing again. At first it was only occasionally every few weeks they'd have a new missing person, but over the past few months they've been increasing. People are disappearing more frequently and what I want to know is why no one else has noticed?"

"Harry…" She put her hand on his arm. "People go missing all the time. It's horrible, but all we can do is keep a eye out. You haven't got anything to be worrying about."

He groaned, frustrated. "No, it's beginning to happen too much now. Something's not right about it… Ron didn't believe me either."

"I'm not saying I don't believe you, but I think we shouldn't worry ourselves over it until we have solid evidence. Okay listen," she added when he glared at her, "I'll also keep watch and see if the numbers increase, whatever will make you happy, but honestly I don't think you have reason to panic. Have any of them been confirmed dead?"

He thought for a moment. "No. They go missing and… just don't come back."

She gave him a small smile and patted him on the back. "I'll keep a lookout. Now, would you like a cup of tea, or…?"

"Don't you have work tomorrow?"

She blanched. "Oh, no. I do." Meaning, Malfoy also had work tomorrow. His first day and he'll likely have a hangover. Brilliant. She suddenly wasn't too keen on the idea of tomorrow. "But it doesn't matter, I had a sleep earlier."

He grinned. "Sucks for you. I get tomorrow off."

"What? Why?"

"They give us Monday's off now," he said proudly. "Didn't Ron tell you that?"

Her face fell and abruptly the conversation had lost what little humour it had.

"Hermione…" Harry trailed off hopelessly, looking at her guiltily. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring it up."

"It's okay," she said, determinedly keeping her voice strong. "It doesn't bother me."

"Yes it does," said Harry carefully. "You know I'm always here to talk."

"Not always. Being an Auror doesn't give you much time to talk anymore. I don't mind though, as I told you, he doesn't bother me. Tea?"

"Changing the subject."

"Harry –"

_Thud._

Both Harry and Hermione's heads snapped up, exchanging brief glances. She may have been slightly grateful for the disturbance of where her and Harry's conversation had been leading, but she had a feeling she knew where the noise had came from, and if she was correct and Harry found out, talking about Ron actually sounded preferable. Hermione, for the first time in a long while, _really _hoped she was wrong. She anxiously stood, and went towards the source of the sound.

_Thud._

No. No, no, _no._ Malfoy don't do this…

He wasn't supposed to wake up yet! She knew her mistake; she hadn't cast Stupefy well enough. She pulled out her wand and pointed it to the door.

"Where's that noise coming from?"

Hermione cursed under her breath and turned, feigning innocence as she discreetly shoved her wand into her back pocket. "No idea."

Her voice shook as she spoke, and Harry, always the observant one, noticed. "What're you hiding?"

"Nothing."

_Thud. Thud._

He looked from Hermione to the door behind her. "Is someone in there?"

"No," she answered all too quickly. "Probably just Crookshanks."

"In the toilet?" he asked sceptically.

"Well, yes. People teach their cats all the time."

"Do they really?"

"Yes! I mean, I know Ron's always said there was something funny about him, but really there's a lot more to Crookshanks than meets the eye –"

_Thud._

"– he's a terribly intelligent creature and I really feel he should get the respect and recognition he deserves. Not one of us knew who Scabbers really was in third year, did we? But Crookshanks certainly – oh."

She ceased her meaningless rambling, for at that precise moment, Crookshanks had happily trotted into view. Neither Harry nor Hermione said anything for a moment, both watching as the furry feline rubbed itself up against Hermione's sofa, purring as he did so with his bottlebrush tail swaying from side to side. They continued to stare in silence, except for the increasingly loud thuds from the toilet, until Crookshanks had disappeared from view.

Harry finally turned his attention back to her, a frown set firmly onto his features. "Who's in there?"

"Crookshanks gave birth in there yesterday," she said as though it were painfully obvious.

"Crookshanks is a _he."_

"Can we _really_ be sure about that Harry? Can we _really _be sure about anything? What is gender and who are _we_ to judge?" she expressed heartedly.

Harry stared for a second. "Who's in there?"

"I told you, no one."

_Thud._

"Okay…" he said slowly. "If no one's in there, you won't mind if I take a look?"

Hermione opened her mouth to make up some pathetic excuse when it dawned on her, no matter what she said now, it didn't matter. It still looked odd, she couldn't convince him to turn away, and he knew what she was saying was a load of bollocks.

Taking a breath, she stepped to the side and gestured for him to enter. "All right, go in. I guarantee you'll regret it."

He studied her for several seconds as if the answer was drawn all over her face. Which, she thought, may have been easier instead of having him find out this way. Merlin, it was going to look bad. What would he think? She had Draco frigging Malfoy in her toilet, not literally (but the thought had its appeal), in the middle of the bloody night. He would most definitely draw the wrong conclusion.

She didn't look at him as he walked slowly past her, as if he was secretly daring for her to stop him, nor did she jump in front of him when she heard the door click open, but her heartbeat had increased with the tension, and she was bracing for one of Harry's rages.

"Oh my god."

* * *

**next chapter: harry's reaction. draco's first day on the job and he's already made a new enemy, and hermione jumps to draco's defense. **

**thanks for reading/reviewing you fabulous humans :)**


	10. a little payback

"I was going to tell you, I swear I was, but –"

"They finally let you repaint it in here!"

She whirled around, not sure that she had heard him right. "I'm sorry?"

"Remember when you first started living here, and the paint had been chipping? You said it looked 'too tacky' and almost didn't move in."

"I…" Thoroughly at a loss for words, Hermione stood next to Harry and poked her head through the door curiously. Her eyes darted over every detail of the tiny room, and considering it was just a small room to hold a downstairs toilet, there wasn't much to look at. She knew that if he really was still in there they'd see him right away, but it was almost too amazing for her to believe – he wasn't anywhere in sight.

"Why were you trying to hide a paint job?" Harry asked, now resting on the doorframe and watching her.

"Oh, well… it's only recently been done and… I was afraid the paint was still wet."

His mouth twitched. "If no one's in there, where was the thudding coming from?"

"Oh, uh…" She looked back into the room, her gaze resting on the… open… window… above the toilet. Open? It wasn't like that when she left Malfoy in here, was it? "I, uh, guess the neighbours must be having a party or moving some furniture about…"

What was going on? Had he jumped out of the window and onto the balcony? He wasn't that athletic, was he? And even if he had, he wouldn't be this nice. Hadn't Malfoy wanted Harry to catch him? Or did he realise that not only would Hermione get in trouble, but he would as well? Was he saving his own neck?

"Something's happened, hasn't it?" said Harry, breaking her away from muddled thoughts. "You're troubled."

She pulled her wondering gaze from the window and met his bright green one. "Yes, but…" She hesitated. "I'll talk about it with you another time, okay?"

He didn't look pleased. "I can't know now?"

"It's late, I'm tired, and as much as I enjoy having you here Harry, I've got a lot on my mind. What do you say we meet up for coffee sometime during the week and I'll – I'll explain then?"

It took a moment, but eventually he nodded. Hermione felt relief flood through her. It had been a close call, and she knew that the next time Harry or someone else were to stop by unexpectedly, she wouldn't get off as easily again. She had to tell him before it was too late.

The moment Harry was out of her flat; Hermione darted through the apartment and to the back door – the only place Malfoy could possibly be. The balcony outside had a spectacular view at night, the city lights in particular, but she wasn't paying attention to that tonight. Determined to know where he had gone, she eagerly went around the corner, and for a second was momentarily dumbfounded.

Malfoy was perched onto the edge of the railing, sitting as though there weren't twelve more floors below them and there was _absolutely _no chance of falling backwards to his death.

He regarded her with amusement. "Hey Granger, how's Potter?"

"Get away from there!" She went over and grabbed his arm to pull him back onto solid ground, pretending not to notice when he cringed from her touch. "Have you no sense?"

He smirked, standing fully in front of her now, his eyes glimmering with the multicoloured lights around them, hair tousled from the summer's breeze. "Worried about me?"

"No," she said at once, "but you're not sober, are you? You have no balance at the moment."

He scoffed. "I'm a god, therefore, immortal. Therefore, making me _untouchable_ and therefore, cannot possibly be killed."

Hermione closed her eyes tiredly and rubbed them. Merlin, she was exhausted. "You have work tomorrow, you know. Do you really think drinking was such a wise thing to do?"

"I can do whatever the hell I want."

"Will you drop the I-don't-care attitude?" she snapped.

"Make me."

"Why did you hide?" Hermione demanded suddenly. "Why did you actually do something decent for me?"

He laughed coldly and stepped around her back to the living room. She followed. "I didn't do it for you."

"Why then?"

Malfoy didn't answer but gingerly climbed the stairs to his bedroom.

She was certain he was smirking to himself.

* * *

Draco's head was going to explode. He didn't know how much more he could take. The moment he had stepped foot in the bloody building not one person had offered him a friendly smile; they either completely ignored him, or glared as he followed Granger. Bun Woman especially was not amused to see Draco again.

"Hello!" Granger said cheerfully to her as she handed over her notes. "How are you this morning?"

"Good, thank you." Her eyes drifted over to Draco curiously. "Yourself?"

"Oh, I'm…" She had been flicking through her paperwork, but as she thought over the question, she paused. "Fine."

At this, Draco thought he saw Bun Woman shoot him an accusing look, as if she somehow knew it had to be his fault for Granger's unusually dull response. "Fine?"

Granger nodded, dragging her eyes up from the parchment. "One of those days. Anyway, I'd best get to my office. Have a lovely day."

Draco quickly followed her up the stairs.

"Fine?" he repeated.

"What?" She glanced at him wearily.

"Why are you only fine?"

"Do you care?"

"No," he said firmly, this conversation oddly reminding him of the night before…

_"__Worried about me?"_

_"__No," she said at once._

"Then why the need to know? Besides," she yawned, "I should think it fairly obvious."

"Fine's not really an emotion."

"Really? How fascinating." From the tone of her voice, it was plain that she did not think it very fascinating at all.

They got in the elevator and stood further in the corner to allow room for others. Some blinked in surprise to see him trailing after Granger, while others regarded him with disgust, turning up their noses.

Didn't they know he'd got the hint? Draco Malfoy equals evil slimy git. Keep all infants away. Teach children to hate. Do not make eye contact. Show no mercy.

He understood.

"What are you all staring at?" Granger said rather coolly from beside him. He looked at her in surprise, but she did not meet his eyes.

"Why's _he_ here?" a broad man who was on Granger's other side, not much older than them, demanded. His hair was dark and almost like Draco's, though it was combed back in a way Draco hadn't done since his Hogwarts years. The man's face was also very hard and defined, as though made from marble. His eyes were cold and near black.

"He now works here," Granger replied boldly, seeming oblivious to the threatening looks he was sending Draco's way.

The man regarded him with evident dislike, a scowl on his strong face. A face that looked very familiar to Draco. "Who would hire him?"

"I did," she said instantly as the elevator came to a halt and more people evacuated out. Some throwing glances behind them as they did so and others looking disappointed they would miss whatever sure argument was about to happen.

He looked at her as though her hair had suddenly turned green. _"What?_ Hire? Him?"

"Have you lost the capacity to understand English or do you have a hearing impairment of some kind?" Draco asked snidely.

"I beg your pardon?" His eyes flared warningly.

The elevator stopped again and this time people practically lunged out, highly relieved to be free, until it was only the three of them left.

Draco crossed his arms, triumphantly smirking. "I asked whether or not you had hearing difficulties. You then questioned, 'I beg your pardon?' confirming my assumption."

Beside him, Granger shifted a bit. She didn't like being at the centre of conflict. He remembered well the arguments he'd have with her beloved Potter and Weasley and how many times she had so often tried to stop it turning turbulent to avoid trouble with the professors.

But this was different; there were no teachers here. Draco was vaguely used to confrontations with wizards. While most people kept their distance and settled with nasty looks, sometimes they would approach, and naturally Draco's inability to close his mouth when he should only caused more trouble.

This was one of those times.

The man stammered with rage. "H-how – dare you? You of all people insult _me?_ You shouldn't even be here, let alone deserve to be among decent people!" he spat. "I've heard stories about you Draco Malfoy and honestly, what you did in the war disgusts me. Too gutless to even pick a side, scurried away when things got tough. You're pathetic and they should've locked you and your good for nothing parents in Azkaban to rot."

Draco went towards him, almost blind with fury, ignoring Granger's poor attempts to keep the two apart, when the elevator gave a startlingly sudden jolt, and the doors flew open to their floor.

Both men did nothing but glare hatefully at each other, neither one having any intention to leave or showing any sign that they had even noticed the lift stopping.

Draco wasn't even aware that Granger had been pulling on his sleeve until she said desperately, "Malfoy, come on, we've got to go. This is silly." And then whispered, "People are staring."

She was right. Waiting at the door of the lift was a crowd of employees, all looking at Draco as though he were some sort of dangerous animal, about to pull his wand out and Avada Kedavra everyone in the building. Sneering, he let her pull him away, the workers all scattering away like a deer in headlights.

Then, before the doors to the lift closed, they heard the man call after them, "This isn't over!"

"I can't believe you haven't even started yet and already you've made trouble for yourself," Granger said a moment later as they both reached the second landing of the stairs.

Draco gritted his teeth. "He was the one who started it."

"You didn't have to retaliate! Getting on Armstrong's bad side your first day is –"

"Armstrong?" he asked, the wheels in his head turning faster. "Is that his name?"

"Derek Armstrong. But let it go, would you? You can't –"

"Armstrong… he went to Hogwarts, didn't he? Stupid git, I'll get him –"

"Stop it!" And Granger was abruptly standing in front of him, her arms on her hips in a way that reminded him of Narcissa. "You're not on good terms with the public as it is, do you really think starting fights is going to improve that? Why don't you try to make friends? Prove people wrong?"

"I don't need friends and I certainly don't have anything to prove," he said shortly, walking around her and going up the hallway where he remembered Granger's office was.

He felt her eyes on his back the whole way.

* * *

The rest of the day didn't improve at all. Granger spent most of the time going to and fro the fireplaces downstairs and each time bringing in new people in her office, or at times not returning for hours. During this time, Draco was left to the simple yet complicated tasks she would set him from sorting out her files in alphabetical order, sorting out papers neatly on her desk, to taking notes from her co-workers, which would require him to run around the massive building in search for certain employees' offices. And when they weren't in their offices (which happened most of the time) he was forced to ask about where they were, and if someone knew (though a lot of the time they wouldn't answer him straight away and just glare), they would ultimately send him down to floors he'd never even heard of only to be told the worker he was looking for had left moments before and Draco would quickly have to go off in search again. Then when Granger was in her office, she would send him down to get her coffee (more running around), and when lunch came around, Draco was so exhausted and humiliated from following a Mudblood's orders and having been thrown so many hated looks throughout the day, that he seriously thought about poisoning her food. In the end he decided against it; he wasn't stupid and nor was Granger. He was sure she would test any food he provided her with before eating; and that was exactly what she did when he handed over the food.

It was when, much later on in the day, she told him to go and fetch two more people he'd never even heard of and give them a message that made no sense to him, did he wonder if the bint was actually setting him any real jobs now and if she was only doing it for her own amusement. Then, after about the sixth cup of coffee he was told to get her, he also wondered if she had some kind of super bladder.

"Granger, how does any of this relate to elves?" he demanded as he breathlessly stumped into her office again, not long after being sent to hand Ms. Jones a list of wizarding names from Switzerland.

"The Promotion of Elfish Welfare in Britain is not the only one in the world. We're connected to other countries and keep tabs on each other regularly," she answered distractedly, scribbling something down on paper. "I need you to owl this to Mr. Heartfield, by the way."

"What!" he exclaimed. "I've been going back and forth non-stop all day! I haven't eaten anything since breakfast. Aren't I supposed to get a break some time?"

Granger didn't answer, but she didn't even have to, for she had paused writing and peeped up at him through her lashes. She dropped her gaze quickly when she saw that he was staring right back at her, a flush creeping up her face as a cheeky smile she was unable to contain formed over her lips.

Draco was torn between surprise and anger; she had sent him running around after her all day without one break to eat. He was sure now that many of those trips were unnecessary and really had been only to satisfy her desire to get back at him. It was such a dirty move, wasn't she supposed to be nice and fair to all, especially after what had happened with that whelp Armstrong? Not only was he completely worn out, starving, and embarrassed from running around after her like some servant, but he was impressed also. She had pulled one over him.

Blankly, he turned around to leave, throwing looks of disbelief over his shoulder at the 'teachers pet' as he did so, mumbling and shouting parts of his annoyance, his tone switching from amazement, to fury.

"Bloody women! Who says Gryffindors are noble? She's trying to kill me… sneaky little… wrench… trying to get back at me… hoping I wouldn't notice…" Draco's useless rambling and yelling could be heard until he was two floors below the office.

* * *

**next chapter: draco gets a letter he's been dreading, hermione tells harry about who she's living with, but it doesn't work out how she expected it to, not if a certain slytherin can help it. **

**this chapter might have seemed a bit slow, i don't know. when i was editing it i thought it was slow haha. so sorry if you felt the same way, i did write this over two years ago. but it all pays off, i virtually pinky promise :)**


	11. draco's payback

_"__When you get to know someone, you'll learn exactly when, where, and just how deep to cut."_

—_Unknown_

* * *

The next week of work went a lot like the first one. Although, now that Draco realised Granger wasn't as pure and kind as she made herself out to be, he was much more alert when she set him tasks to do. He now refused to go searching all over the building for particular employees and instead resorted to leaving the messages Granger would send them at their doors. Draco figured it was just his job to deliver them, what happened after he'd set the notes to their destination wasn't of his concern. Whether or not the recipients got them, he didn't know, only that Granger hadn't noticed what he was doing just yet. He also, if he was being perfectly honest with himself, went slightly out of his way to make her tea and lunches wrong as humanly possible without it being too obvious. He was beginning to start looking into tasteless and unrecognisable potions to sneak into her food – he wasn't a former Death Eater for nothing, and he had some tricks up his sleeve. Not that he intended to kill her of course, because, due to the Unbreakable Vow, that would kill him too, but he also needed the bint. The year wasn't anywhere near over, much to Draco's pique. He was really beginning to hate his life. Sure, it had its quirks when he finally got under Granger's skin, but he was starting to grow tired of seeing that same stupid bushy head everywhere.

She was driving him insane and she didn't even know it.

What kept him going, he supposed, was that he was slowly gathering background information on her. He paid close attention to what ticked her off, what made her upset, and what made her happy. So far, he'd figured out Potter had no idea he was there and she wanted to tell him on her own. Well, no way was Draco going to let that happen. He had a very good idea what he was going to do Saturday afternoon when she met up with him.

He also knew that she was very protective of her cat. Draco used this to his advantage and often threatened it's life when he didn't get what he wanted – this new method allowed him access to the bathroom before her. She probably didn't think him capable of murder, but she was aware he was almost as good with spells as her, and wasn't going to take the chance. Whoever said ladies first, had not met Granger. She was a Mudblood and barely classified as one.

And finally, all thanks to eavesdropping that night Potter barged in, Draco had found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, so to speak, and learned possibly the most important and best advantage he had over her:

Weasley.

Something most definitely had happened between Granger and Weasley, and Draco was making it his business to know. The more information he found out, the better he could use it. She hadn't snapped yet, and Draco had to admit she had good self-control, Potter would have probably killed him or himself by now, but she would lose control eventually. He was going to verbally abuse her until she was a sobbing, blubbering mess. He was going to drive her insane just as she was unintentionally doing to him. He would regain some of his will to live seeing the composed bookworm lose it.

The rest of the week continued as usual, and soon Saturday did roll around. Draco hurdled down the stairs with a new bounce in his step, highly excited for Granger's little meet up with Potter he was sure to ruin. Grabbing himself an apple from his side of the fridge – yes that's right, _his_ side of the fridge – he sat gleefully at the table, for once not even minding he and Granger were sharing it (he'd usually try to eat earlier than her to avoid eating together).

Granger raised an eyebrow, a spoon of yoghurt halfway to her mouth. Still watching him in puzzlement, she settled the spoon back in the little carton.

"What are you so cheerful about?" she asked timidly. She knew anything that would have Draco behaving this way ought to be something to be wary of.

"What's there not to be cheery about?" he said lightly, juices of the apple spurring his body into gear. In the mornings, he would have something to say about that mop of fuzz on her head, it looked positively dreadful in the morning, but today he ignored it.

"Well…" Granger paused, conflicting emotions playing out behind her eyes. "It's just that…" She didn't finish though, and with a shake of her head, placed the last spoonful of yoghurt in her mouth and left the table.

Draco nearly smiled. His attitude had her on her toes. Good.

However, Granger didn't stay gone for very long, and soon she was back again. Albeit this time she was not alone. A large black owl that was painfully familiar to Draco swept through the window she had apparently just opened, flew cleanly above her head, almost catching her bushy hair in its talons, and landed fluently on the vase of dead flowers in the centre of the table.

Right in front of Draco.

Reluctantly, he reached out and unclasped the note that was tied neatly to the owl's leg. Dread filled him as he read the back of the note, signed Narcissa Malfoy, and his good mood slowly drained out of him completely as he unfolded the note and began to read:

_Dear Draco,_

_How have you been? How are work and your new roommate treating you? I haven't read anywhere in the_Daily Prophet _of any recent deaths so I trust that must be a good sign, seeing as neither one of you has murdered the other yet. I congratulate you. Do tell me how your first few weeks have been; I'd be interested to hear about it._

Draco's mood lifted again as he skimmed through the next paragraph, going on about the refurnishing of the manor and different wallpapers and the new colour of his room, but then dropped just as fast as it had came when he reached the next paragraph, explaining the real reason his mother had wrote to him.

_I regret to inform you that you are required by the manor at three fifteen today, sharp, for tea. Natalie and I will accompany you. Terribly sorry about the short notice darling, she hadn't informed me of this meeting until late last night. I strictly advise you to be on your best behaviour and do not let me or your father down. Be polite, patient, speak kindly when asked of your inferiors and at least pretend to enjoy work. The sooner she likes you, the easier this will all be._

_Dress well, hair brushed, teeth cleaned and flossed, I'll see you at three._

_Love always,_

_Your mother._

Draco stared at the parchment, reread it over, looked up at the ceiling, glared at the owl as if this were his fault, and then swore loudly.

Granger, startled, looked up from the book in her hands. If Draco had not been in such a state, he may have been appreciative he'd managed to tear her attention away from it. He didn't think even Potter or Weasley were capable of that.

But right now, he couldn't care less.

"Shit. Shit, shit, shit."

"Malfoy –"

"Bloody fucking hell!"

"What happened?"

He almost answered her, but caught himself in time. As if he'd let his guard down around Granger and spill out all his feelings – this wasn't one of those damn soap operas that were always on daytime television (he hadn't even watched much television and he knew well by now daytime TV was horrible).

Instead, Draco promptly left and went to the only person who could even remotely improve his mood.

* * *

"So," said Blaise, strolling lazily around his flat, "you've come to the great Zabini in search of help."

Draco glared darkly at him, but went on, "I need some excuse to get out of it. I don't want to have tea with my _mother_ and future _mother-in-law!_ That's every mans nightmare!"

"Mate, you knew what you sighed up for when you agreed," Blaise said in a nearly pitying way. "What else did you expect?"

"I didn't know what I sighed up for when I agreed!" he exclaimed. "I didn't realise how fussy all these women are, what, between my mother, possible mother-in-law, potential wife, and Granger. Mother doesn't want me to mess up, Hopkins expects so much, and frigging Granger…" he took a breath to calm himself, "don't even get me started on her."

"She's not that bad. I could at least come to accept her if I were you."

Draco groaned, ignoring him. "And I was looking forward to today."

"What was happening today?" Blaise asked, watching Draco closely from across the room.

"I was going to mess up Granger's play date with Potter," he mumbled, slumping down on one of the many boxes scattered around the flat. Blaise hated unpacking and had convinced himself he wasn't going to live here forever. Thus, not seeing the point in taking everything out of its box. Sloth.

Blaise watched on, his gaze heavy on Draco, who had dropped his head in his hands in an impossible attempt to stop his thoughts from spinning. He was particularly good at dramatics, everyone knew this, but he had seen the brief sympathy in Blaise's dark eyes. And though Blaise, as much as Draco hated to think about it, mightn't dislike Granger as much as he should, when it came down to it he was still _Draco's_ friend, not Granger's, and this is why with a sigh and roll of his eyes, he said hesitantly, "Maybe you still could mess up her day."

At that, Draco looked up at him through his hands hopefully. "What?"

"When's she meeting Potter?"

"Uh…" Draco thought. "I think I heard her say something over that phone thingy about him arriving at the apartment and then deciding where to go for afternoon tea."

"So same time you're seeing your mother?"

"Yeah…"

"So you won't be able to be there?"

"Obviously," he said impatiently, hands dropping away from his face. "I wanted to be there when Potter showed up before the know-it-all could explain so he'd go off his nut at her."

"If you just made peace with the woman, you'd save yourself a lot of –"

"Are you going to help or not?"

"Fine, don't say I didn't warn you. What I suggest is to leave some of your belongings around for him to see, things that'll make it perceptibly clear she's got a male former Slytherin living with her. Even better if you've got something Potter will recognise straight away as yours."

Draco's mood improved so much that he jumped up from the box, a look of wondrous delight on his face. "That's brilliant! But what would he immediately know as mine?"

Both men thought for a moment, long and hard, when abruptly Blaise also jumped up from his box. "Leave your old Slytherin scarf out, your cologne, and the ring," he pointed at Draco's right hand, "that your father gave you in third year."

Draco hesitated. "But… what if Potter tries to blow it up?"

Blaise grinned. "Then you'll have a reason to blow him up."

* * *

Hermione sat in front of the television, not really watching it, as she stroked a purring Crookshanks nestled comfortably in her lap. Malfoy had left for the second time today. Not that she had been expecting him to stay, it was the weekend and they spent practically every waking moment together, so of course he'd want to leave and have some time away the first chance he got. But Hermione couldn't help but wonder what had been in the letter, what had destroyed his peculiar and overly happy mood in the blink of an eye. She was naturally a curious person and had fleetingly considered looking through his room for the letter, but had immediately scolded herself. She may wonder a lot about Malfoy, but she was not about to go snooping through his stuff.

It was mind-boggling though, the first time he'd left the flat this morning, he had been furious. When he'd came back, however, he'd been happier. And just now when he'd left once more, he had been angry again. This man did not make any sense whatsoever to her, and the more she thought about it, the more he confused her.

Or maybe he just really hated her.

The knock at the door pulled her away from her thoughts. She quickly stood up, Crookshanks jumping off her lap with a very grumpy look.

Just as Hermione was starting towards the door, a sudden gleam of something metallic caught her eye. A men's deodorant can. Reaching out to hastily throw it out of sight, she also saw a deep blue tie around the back of a chair. That was odd. Normally, Malfoy kept his belongings in his room.

The door opened of its own accord and Harry stepped through.

"Hey, sorry I couldn't see you sooner. Auror stuff, you know. I hope you don't mind I let myself in," he added, seeing her expression and frowning a little.

"Oh, it's fine," she said a tad anxiously, trying to block the table from his view. "Should we go?"

"Actually, do you mind if I use your toilet?" he asked, already walking past her.

"Why didn't you use yours before you left?"

"Ron just used it," he explained, nose wrinkled.

Understanding dawned on her straight away. "Say no more."

He was close to the lavatory door when quite out of nowhere he stopped, his eyes fixed on something ahead.

Looking where Harry was, at first she didn't understand what he was looking at until her eyes landed on it, and she mentally cursed herself for not seeing it sooner: a Slytherin scarf was, very plainly, draped across the stair railings.

"Hermione…" he said very slowly, "why have you got – _that_ – in your apartment?"

Hermione bit her lip, her stomach turning. She didn't know what to say when she was going to be telling him Draco Malfoy had been living with her for the past few weeks anyway. She couldn't lie now, but somehow she found herself unable to form the words.

He turned back to her, but that was an even worse mistake, for the open window let the bright afternoon sun shine through the flat and captured the metallic shine of a very expensive looking deodorant can.

"Is that men's deodorant? Is that a _tie?"_

"Harry –"

"Are you seeing someone?" he asked, now walking back up to her. He looked very torn between wanting to hear her out, and having trouble not jumping to conclusions, but as his eyes swept the room, signs that more than one person living there became evident to him; the pairs of socks laying about the place, the second bedroom door wide open, men's clothing on the floor, more dishes in the sink than usual, and there was a smell… a smell to the place… a more masculine scent that had never been there before.

Hermione's eyes did a quick scan over the downstairs of her flat, and then bit down on her lip so hard there was a faint taste of blood. She hadn't noticed until now how much the apartment had started showing evidence that Malfoy was also there. But she also knew that some of it was a bit exaggerated. A Slytherin scarf? Seriously? It wasn't even winter, and Hermione highly doubted Malfoy still wore his old school scarfs.

No, she had a suspicion that he had done this on purpose – there was no way she'd let her flat get this disorganised, but how had she not seen it earlier? Had he put some kind of Disillusionment Charm on it all to only reveal itself at the proper moment?

Her blood boiled. So that's why he'd hid the first time Harry dropped by. He'd planned to ruin everything at the proper moment.

"Is that Malfoy's ring?" Harry asked in pure astonishment.

"W-what –?"

He pointed to the table. Sure enough, there beside the deodorant can was the exquisite silver ring, also gleaming impressively in the sunlight, with the same central silver serpent she remembered observing a few times while he was taking down notes in potions.

"Are you and Malfoy living together?" Harry asked so quietly, it was as though he were afraid to ask the question.

Hermione dragged her gaze away from the ring to her best friend, who looked as though he'd never seen her until now, and was deeply ashamed when she felt tears sting her eyes.

"Harry – this is what I wanted to tell you, you weren't supposed to find out this way – I'm so sorry – I didn't –"

"Are you seeing him?" he voiced in that same quiet tone.

"No!" she said quickly. "I –"

"Sleeping with him?"

"NO! Oh god, no!" She was repulsed at the very thought and it stung that he seemed to think she'd do a thing like that. But what other conclusion could he draw from this? She shouldn't feel hurt, if Pansy Parkinson was living with him, she might very well ask the same things, but…

Her eyes watered some more.

"Why is he here then?" he demanded, voice fierce as he watched her closely. "Is he threatening you? Hurting you? Hermione, he's a former Death Eater –"

"I know Harry! Just let me explain, all right?"

And she told him everything she knew, both sitting at the dining table, Harry's eyes increasing in size every now and then, sometimes looking as though he desperately wanted to interrupt, but restrained himself. He hung on her every word, perplexed just as she was by Malfoy's strange and sudden decision to work for her.

"But, if he's started working for you, why wasn't it in the _Daily Prophet?"_ he asked when she'd finished, hands crossed on the table.

"I don't think it'd be that important, but even if it was, the _Prophet_ doesn't do much reporting on the Malfoys anymore unless it's negative."

Harry shook his head. "I wish you'd said something sooner, you wouldn't have to go through all of this alone if you had. I mean, you made an _Unbreakable Vow_ with _him._ What if there had been loopholes in it? You should have asked Ron or I to go with you so you wouldn't have to face that place again."

"Ron wouldn't have come."

"He cares a lot more about you than you think," said Harry seriously.

"It's different between us now," she said, voice weaker than she'd intended it to be.

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"He misses you, Hermione."

Something in her chest ached. She missed him too, more than she was allowing herself to think about. There were nights when she was curled up with Crookshanks, wishing she had both her favourite gingers by her side again. Ironically, while Malfoy made life somewhat more complex and damn right infuriating most of the time, he had taken her mind off a lot. That horrible emptiness was easier to shove aside, and so without even knowing it, Malfoy eased her pain.

"I never meant for you to find out about Malfoy like this, Harry," she said softly after another brief silence.

"I know. I'm not mad, Hermione. I just don't think he deserves it. You're too nice for you own good, and people like Malfoy know it too. They'll take advantage of it."

"You don't think I should have done it," she stated.

He hesitated and said slowly, thinking as he spoke, "It's not a simple yes or no. See, people always deserve second chances because people understandably mess up. Everybody makes mistakes, big and small. But – but people like Malfoy…" He paused. "Well, he's had his fair share of second chances, hasn't he?"

Hermione's eyes fell on the serpent ring in front of them, and said nothing.

* * *

**next chapter: draco's struggling with natalie, draco and hermione have their biggest fight yet, which ends in someone getting hurt and hermione avoiding him completely. **

**shit gets real after the next chapter. like, the whole aim for this fic was to keep things as realistic as possible so believe me when i say it's a very slow (frustrating probably haha) romance. and as always, thank you for taking the time to read/review! **


	12. to lie and lose control

_"__It has been said, 'time heals all wounds'. I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone."_

—_Rose Kennedy_

* * *

"Your mother also mentions you love dancing, is that true?"

No. No, no, _no!_ No, it bloody well wasn't! Draco _hated_ dancing. There was no way you could get him to dance for anybody, _ever._ It was something he never enjoyed doing, something he didn't even like _watching_.

Well. That is with the exception of exotic dancing. He enjoyed watching that very much.

But to actually dance elegantly like some prissy little…

Draco couldn't do it, he couldn't lie again – he was sick of pretending and answering these questions falsely to impress his stupid supposed to be mother-in-law. All afternoon through little sips of tea (that he had just barely contained from pouring down her throat; the woman drank slower than a dead turtle, for Christ's sake) she'd asked all kinds of questions, from what he enjoyed doing in his spare time (his mother pointing to the bookshelves from behind Hopkins' back so he'd answer correctly), to what his favourite drink was (his mother, again, mouthing profusely to answer with champagne). But none of those answers had been true. When Hopkins asked what kind of books Draco enjoyed reading, he had started to believe he'd be allowed to answer truthfully (because he genuinely did like reading) but then his mother pointed hastily over to the geography section. _Geography._ What kind of sane person read about the earth in their spare time! And his favourite drink was _not_ champagne, but whiskey mixed beverages dammit!

He wouldn't do it. He wasn't going to lie again.

"I love dancing," Draco found himself lying through his teeth, "especially ballroom."

She was ecstatic. "Ah, wonderful! And I hope you're good at it?"

"He's marvellous," Narcissa answered, a fake smile on her mouth.

Draco felt his fists clench.

"And you also like…?"

_Porn,_ he thought bitterly.

"Classical music," his mother supplied. "Mozart, Vivaldi, Beethoven, Brahms, Debussy to name a few."

She nodded. "How do you feel about red meat?"

Red meat? _Red meat?_ What the hell did that have to do with being worthy to marry her daughter? Was she allergic to everything decent?

Draco shifted in his seat, hoping he didn't appear as uncomfortable and irritated as he felt, and, for the hundredth time, lied.

"I'm not a fan of red meat, but the protein and vitamins are important to maintain a healthy diet, so I generally try to incorporate beans and other alternatives."

"You cook?"

Draco opened his mouth to tell her that's what house elves were for, but caught his tongue at the warning look Narcissa sent him, and, again, lied.

"Yes." His fingers itched to strangle the woman.

She studied him dubiously. "We'll test that out next time I drop by, shall we? You can cook afternoon tea."

Cook afternoon tea? _Cook afternoon tea?_

"He'd be delighted," Narcissa said.

"Wonderful. Now," Hopkins leaned forward in her chair, expression turning serious, "how's work coming along?"

Horrible, horrible, _horrible!_

"I'm adjusting," Draco said forcefully.

"You work for Ms. Granger?"

"I do."

"And how do you get on with her?"

_Horrible, horrible, horrible!_

"Fine."

Hopkins cocked her head to the side at this, and Draco thought maybe he hadn't been as convincing as he should have. She seemed to sense there was tension. But to his surprise, she didn't press the matter and continued on with her pointless questions.

By the end of it, Draco felt sure he had never lied more in his life and couldn't stem feelings of unease. The Hopkins' seemed to disapprove of everything he liked. Meaning, if he was successful with this year, it was likely farewell to everything Draco enjoyed, and, these days, there wasn't a lot that made him happy. Not anymore.

He suddenly felt very trapped.

* * *

By the time Draco reached the flat, it was nine thirty. His mother had insisted on staying for dinner and showed him the newly done parts of the manor, though he really couldn't have cared less. He was miserable, irritated and the dire need for sleep was growing more and more insistent.

Lazily, he kicked off his shoes once inside, not even bothering to take them up to his room, and his sock-covered feet almost sang with joy as he felt the soft carpet underneath them – finally free of uncomfortable leather dress shoes.

His foot was on the first stair when Granger, as though she had Apparated soundlessly, appeared beside the stair railings.

Her hand was curled around the end of the polished railing, her body lightly leaning on it and expression sombre, not unlike his own. Draco didn't know to gain a little comfort in knowing he wasn't the only one feeling like shit, or to rejoice that Granger wasn't in high spirits.

He had just opened his mouth to speak when she cut him off, voice soft.

"Why did you do that?"

"Do what?" he said, tone harsh with impatience.

"Don't act as though you don't know, Malfoy."

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. He wasn't in the mood for her little word puzzlies. He wanted sleep. "Pray tell, Granger, what I should know so I can leave."

"You think I enjoy standing here and talking to you?" Her voice was hardening.

"If you didn't, wouldn't you be out with what you have to say and, oh, I don't know, _gone__?"_He took another step up, and another and another, until his path was blocked again by a very unhappy looking Granger.

"What have I ever done to you?" she said shrilly.

"What are you talking about?" he snapped.

"The Slytherin scarf!" she blurted out with such vigour and ferocity, it made him jump. "The tie, the deodorant, the –" And she seized Draco's hand before he could make sense of what was happening and thrust into it something small and cool. A jolt of understanding swept over him. _The ring._

Due to his horrible time at the manor, he'd completely forgotten about what he'd done to make sure Granger had as a rotten time as he had.

With the knowledge that his plan had worked, despite the drowsiness and that this was the worst possible moment, Draco was unable to contain a snigger.

"Oh, I see. You think this is funny?" she said, advancing awfully close, eyes furious. "What have I ever done to you to deserve this? First you totally barge your way into my flat, my _life_, make those atrocious rules; you have your own side of the bloody fridge for Merlin's sake! And now you're carelessly throwing your belongings about the place and going out of your way to ruin my friendship with Harry! How petty can you be, Malfoy? I have given you the benefit of the doubt when no one else would, is this how you treat everyone who helps you?"

She had gotten louder as she said all this, but Draco was not about to be deterred. If anything, her anger for him only intensified his. Because it was fucking late, and he didn't need her crap, and who the hell did she think she was, talking about him and his life as though she had a clue to what was going on?

He stood taller to intimidate her, speaking quietly but no less furious. "I didn't want any of this. If there were a way, any other way, that would have prevented me from having to spend this time with you I would have taken it. So make no mistake in thinking I'm eternally grateful. And stop with the act, Granger. It's getting old."

"What act?"

"You act as though you're completely innocent. Like you could do no wrong! But I'm not the one whose been setting ridiculous tasks for my assistant all in order to starve and exhaust him!"

"I only did that because from the moment we ran into each other – literally – you have been nothing but rude and intolerable! I thought you'd have matured or maybe put some of your childish issues aside when you came to me, but once again Malfoy, you never cease to amaze me with how low you will swoop."

"Granger, how I feel about you is not some childish issue. I just happen to really loathe, not only what you stand for, but you as a person. Sometimes hate is not something that can lessen with time. Sometimes, it's there for life."

"That's a load of rubbish! I've never given you a legitimate reason to hate me!"

"Yes, being precious Potter's best friend, poverty stricken Weasley's little crush, and being a vile Mudblood yourself would –"

"SHUT UP!" she yelled. "Don't you dare say a word against Ron and how dare you call me that in my own home?"

"It's mine now!" he yelled back. "Remember? You agreed to all of this!"

"That doesn't mean you get the flat! This," she gestured wildly around them, "is all mine! You just happen to be an inconvenience for the next year."

"No, you gave it up for the next year!"

"No, I didn't! For the time being, maybe it's considered ours but on the whole –!"

"Nothing will ever be _ours,_ Granger! I don't share with – with people like _you!" _He put so much hate into the last word; he might as well have called her a Mudblood again.

"Please, you'd never share with anyone, no matter who they were," she spat, and Draco saw what little control she'd had was gone. "You're nothing but a loathsome, spoilt little brat and finally the rest of the public has picked up on that. You're shallow, you're ignorant, you're conceited, and you're afraid to actually stand up for what you believe in. How much of your life has been spent following your father around and lapping up any sort of pitiful praise he'll drag up for you? Tell me, who're you sucking up to these days now that you've finally realised your father wasn't as grand as you believed him to be, no longer your idol? Who's on your next list to please, or does everyone really want nothing to do with –?"

It happened before Draco could process what he was doing. Quite out of nowhere, he found his hand had risen and before he had the chance regain himself, to stop and think, he had acted on the pure fury running through his veins and slapped her.

In his state of exhaust, it wasn't anywhere near as hard as it could have been. But he was also thoroughly pissed with her, so it hadn't been lacking either. It didn't matter whether or not he had hit her with his full potential. It had still happened.

The sound as his hand smacked against her cheek echoed in the shocked silence that followed. Granger turned her head to look back at him, bravely meeting his eyes before Draco cowardly dropped his. But he knew her big brown eyes, unmistakably shiny, staring at him with an all-new kind of hatred, would never fade from memory no matter how hard he looked at the floor.

Touching where his hand had contacted with her face, Granger turned and went to her room without another word.

* * *

The following morning had to be the longest of his life. She sat as far away from him as possible, always at the other end of the apartment and hadn't even spared him a glance. Usually the woman wouldn't go out of her way to keep out of his way as he did to her, but this time it was all her who did the avoiding.

Draco didn't think it was because she was scared; she certainly wasn't cowering away in the corner. He suspected it went deeper than that – couldn't help but feel she was disappointed in him. But why would she be disappointed? They weren't friends. Definitely he didn't care for her and she didn't care for him, she'd said so herself, and he didn't care what she did, like she didn't care what he did. Or did she? Did she care what he did? He didn't think so.

He wished he didn't, but he felt terrible about what happened. He told himself she was just a Mudblood and she had it coming anyway, but somehow that made him feel worse. He hated her for what she said, but he hated himself more for letting her get to him. He hadn't realised how much she could dig up from his past and throw at him. She had more dirt on him and never once used it until last night. He felt she probably had many more insults buried deep inside her but hadn't said them because she restrained herself all those times.

Many times he found himself wondering whether or not to apologise, but had almost immediately dismissed that ludicrous thought. Draco had only ever apologised to his parents and Blaise in his life and no one else. Though, the slightly red mark on her cheek bothered him immensely. He wondered how red it looked before she'd gone to bed. Had his handprint been imprinted there in crimson?

The rest of the day droned on in the same silent manner. Why hadn't she gone to see Potter or somebody? It was Sunday; she should be somewhere! Had she stayed to torture him? Draco desperately wanted to go over and see Blaise, but he didn't know if he wanted to recount the nights events – best friend or not, there are some things best never to be retold.

But he found he had trouble maintaining what little sanity he had left. She was too bloody quiet. He was so used to her never-ending chitchat, always trying to get a decent reply out of him when she was bored, but there was plainly nothing. Absolutely nothing whatsoever. It was like she was merely a ghost living with him, never to be troubled.

By dinnertime (she was yet again sitting as far away from him as possible), hearing nothing but the frequent scrap of cutlery finally did him in. Slamming down his knife and fork, he got out of his chair loudly and marched over to her.

Granger was sitting, crossed legged, on the armchair in the living room, blankly staring at the television as she quietly ate.

"We need to talk," he said firmly, towering over her form.

She didn't look up, just shook her head and placed another mouthful of salad in her mouth.

"I'm sick of it being so quiet! Even that blasted cat's not making any noise –"

"What do you want, Malfoy?" she asked tiredly. "Because when I'm talking, you want me to shut up. When Crookshanks is in your way, you push him aside."

"I just…" What did he want? For the first time, he had no idea. He hated that she kept making valid points. He hated that nothing was working out the way he wanted it to.

Draco composed himself after a long pause and tried again. "I didn't mean to hit you."

"I know."

Another pause.

"I suppose we're even for third year now."

Draco didn't know if she'd meant that to be a joke, but even if she had, he didn't find it amusing. He'd slapped a woman; he could hardly believe it, even if it had been Granger. Draco had never so much as thought of hitting a female, let alone actually act on it. But here he was, in front of Granger, a part of him wishing he had the courage to say sorry.

It seemed that was what she'd been waiting for: an apology. But when she received none, she got up, walked past him, placed her plate on the sink and went to the door.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Not to rat you out to Harry, if that's what you're worried about. I need a walk. Clear my head of some stuff, and seeing as I forgot to have the silencing charm on, maybe explain to some of the neighbours not to worry. I think the whole building heard us last night," she added somewhat to herself.

"What are you going to tell them?"

Granger considered for a moment, and said, "That my roommate and I don't get on, but I'm working on that."

"You want us to get on?" he asked with distaste.

"No. See that's where the lie comes in. I plan to stop our arguing, but by doing that, I'm not working to make us get on. No offence or anything Malfoy, but I was foolish to think we could ever cooperate."

"So what –?"

"We're now going to interact as little as possible. I think that's what'll be best for this… situation. Every day's going to be like today." And then without further ado, she closed the door behind her and disappeared, leaving her remaining words hanging in the air.

_Every day's going to be like today._

Draco, feeling miserable once again, looked around at his belongings lying around the flat and wondered how long it would take to collect them all. He wanted to leave and move to his own island, where countless apples grew on trees and there were no Ophelia Hopkins's or Hermione Granger's.

He slumped back to his room in desperate need for the day to end.

Too often, the only escape is sleep.

* * *

**next chapter: draco's cornered by a few 'old friends' and is forced to make a decision that'll put everything at risk, ron makes an appearance, and spells are thrown.**

**idk about you guys, but right now i think draco could definitely win the biggest douche award. **


	13. mere shadow

_"Indifference and neglect often do much more damage than outright dislike."_

— _J.K. Rowling_

* * *

August soon rolled around in that same silent way Granger had said it would. Draco thought having her pretending as though he wasn't there would've been a blessing, but it was… odd. So out of character for the woman. He didn't know why, but it felt as though she had given up on him.

But what the heck did that mean?

Given up on what? He didn't know.

As mid-August arrived and left, soon to dissolve into September, he was becoming used to the indifferent silence between them. It was as though she wasn't even there, like he was completely alone. He didn't know when she ate because it was never the same time he did. He also didn't know when she used the bathroom, because they never fought over it again. In fact, he barely saw her around the apartment, only at work. But even then, since he mentioned the 'ridiculous tasks' she'd set him, she'd laid off and did a lot of it on her own instead, leaving Draco to draw pointless doodles on parchment of stick men hanging themselves. Lucky bastards.

It seemed, however, that he was not the only one miserable. Granger didn't seem much happier either. He had caught her, when she didn't know he was looking, wiping away quickly at her tired eyes as though she were crying. This never happened around work and often occurred later on at night, just when he'd hear her toddling off to bed, closing the door with a soft click behind her. Late at night, he thought he could hear her crying from the next room.

Draco went to another afternoon tea with Hopkins and his mother, where he had had to cook a cake before hand. Draco hadn't made a cake before. Needless to say, it did not go so well.

None of this did anything to improve his life at the moment. He had told himself over and over again that things weren't as bad as they could be – he had tried, uncharacteristically, to look on the bright side. But when Blaise informed Draco that his mother had broken up with yet another of her boyfriends, Draco knew instantly what this would entitle. So Blaise took a heap of his boxes and went to stay with his mother in Italy. How long relied on how deeply Ms. Zabini had felt for this wizard.

And so Draco was now fully alone.

_Things could be worse,_ he told himself, _things could be much worse. I mean, I could have a face like Weasley's and have to go through all this._

But these thoughts only cheered him up for a few seconds and then died away quickly. At least Weasley actually had friends.

The Derek bloke at work also didn't help matters. Every time they ran into each other, hell would break loose and Draco found himself swearing more times than he could count. It was only sheer luck that Granger happened to never be too far by when these interactions would happen, but it was only a matter of time, as Armstrong had so often reminded him, that she would not be there to catch them in time before somebody seriously got hurt. Draco had thought he would never hate anyone more than Potter – how wrong he was.

The employees were beginning to get used to his presence and did not pay him much attention anymore. He was a mere shadow to most people now. Bun Woman appeared to be the only one who still treated him the way she always had the moment he'd entered the building, no matter how many times he'd appear at her front desk, asking to know where a certain worker was that Granger had sent him to look for.

"I'm looking for Jennings," he repeated to her for the fifteenth time, "Mr. Jennings."

"I told you, I couldn't get hold of him. You'll just have to find him for yourself," she said sternly.

He gaped at her. "I don't want to go looking all over this place! Has it escaped your mind how huge it all is?"

She glared darkly. Draco didn't know a small, elderly woman wearing glasses too large for her face could look threatening.

"Okay, listen. If you do get hold of him could you send him down –?"

"Does Ms. Granger need him now?"

"She can't see him at the moment, she has a meeting. But," he added quickly, seeing her about to interrupt, "she wants me to send him down to Room 703 now."

"What for?"

"She's piled up a report on the, uh…" he struggled to remember the name of the family, "the Bulstrode residence regarding their house elf, um…" Damn it, what was that elf's name again?

Bun Woman looked at him, discontentment etched on her face, and then returned back to her work as though he hadn't said anything.

Shooting her a dirty look she probably didn't even see, Draco set off in search of Jennings by himself, though he knew it was a lost cause.

* * *

He muttered and cursed under his breath the whole way. This had been the third time someone had directed him to a new place. He hoped Jennings was really on his lunch break like Armstrong had said, because he would not be going back. Granger could find him herself.

Draco turned and went down an alleyway to get to _Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour _quicker. He had no idea what kind of a man would have ice creams for lunch, but he supposed it was still early autumn and it was warm.

Without warning, he was suddenly rammed into the hard stonewall as someone's forearm pressed down tightly against his throat. Draco, once he recovered from the shock, tried pushing whomever it was off, tried reaching for his wand, but it was no good. In the blink of an eye, he heard the words, "Accio wand!" and felt it fly straight out of his pocket. Draco struggled to get free, heart racing, but abruptly stopped when he felt the point of a wand being jabbed into his temple.

"Stop," a harsh voice commanded.

Draco didn't think dying, what with the way his life was going, would be so bad. So he tried to get free once more, and let out a howl of pain when he felt a burning sensation streaming through his skull.

"What are you doing?" he heard a strong voice demand, though it quivered.

"Be quiet! You've done your bit!" someone else snarled.

Draco knew the quivering voice. He stopped his struggles to look over the large black figure that was holding him to the wall and saw more black robbed figures further along the alley. Amongst them was Armstrong.

"You said no one would get hurt!" he said again in that same trying-to-be-brave voice.

"I said he wouldn't be killed if he agreed!" another figure snapped, holding on his arm.

"Agree to what?" Draco panted, still trying to shove away the man holding him.

"Come with us." It wasn't a request.

Draco almost laughed. "Come with you? After you brutally push me into this wall? Is this how you hand out birthday invitations too?"

With a growl, one of the men at the far back shoved past everyone and grabbed Draco's arm so hard he screwed up his eyes to keep from yelping out. Black gloved hands ripped the left sleave of Draco's dress shirt. A wheezy chuckle followed as the figures crowed to stare at his revealed Dark Mark.

"Draco Malfoy. How's life treating you now you're no longer a follower of the Dark Lord?"

He nearly didn't answer, but when he felt the same burning feeling run through his arm, he bit out, "Like shit."

The burning stopped, and his answer seemed to satisfy his capturers. "Would you like pay back? To regain your lost status?"

He didn't say anything, teeth still clenched.

"What would you be willing to do to get revenge on everyone? Everyone who ever looked down on you?"

And finally fear washed over him, the type of fear that had him thinking even if he _did _have a wand, there was no escape. Nowhere to run. These people had him trapped, and with an ill feeling to his stomach, he had an idea exactly who they were. It was far fetched and he truly hoped he was wrong, but something inside of him felt certain. Since his sixth year, he would never forget the faces and manners of Death Eaters. To this day, their masked faces and the bodies of all they had killed before him still haunted him. He still dreamed about it, could still remember walking by countless fellow students bodies, eyes glassy and unseeing. He would never forget seeing Astoria amongst the rest of the dead. Never forget the feeling when he had walked up to her… the blood… the cries…

Draco shook his head and his surroundings came vividly back into focus. There was something very worrying about the urgency and impatience of this lot, especially seeing as they'd risked being caught by Aurors just for this. What did they want with him? And why did they need him so badly? It occurred to Draco that he was in very dangerous territory. What was worse was that this alleyway seemed to be getting darker and darker by the minute. With the crackling tension of danger surrounding him, it was amazing how only minutes earlier he had been about to visit an ice cream parlour.

There was no uncertainly about it, he was with a bunch of surviving, wanted, deadly Death Eaters, and the reality of this situation hit him harder than falling off a broom. It was sixth year all over again.

He didn't know what kind of expression must be on his face, but judging by the unfriendly chilling smile on the Death Eater still holding Draco's arm, it must have been recognition.

"Figured it out then, have you? Usually the people we track down go into denial. '_No, no, oh no! You're not… no you can't be!'"_ He'd put on a very unflattering high-pitched mocking voice. "But you've always caught on a little quicker than the rest, haven't you?"

"What do you want?" he asked, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

He appeared mildly surprised Draco hadn't also figured that out too. "Haven't thought much past the Death Eater part, eh?"

"Who are you?" he found himself asking. He had no idea exactly which Death Eaters had survived the war, who had been caught and how many were in hiding.

"Hurry up!" one snarled from behind.

With snort that made flecks of snot spray out, the Death Eater shoved Draco harder. "Right, lets get this done with. Join the Death Eaters again."

* * *

Hermione's leg bobbed up and down as she sat impatiently at Theodore Nott's dinning room table. This was the third time he had rescheduled their meeting and the third time he had failed to show up. She had it in her mind to completely abandon the Nott family altogether, but of course she couldn't do that, what would happen to their house elves? There was no telling what they might do knowing no one would show up to inspect the condition they were in. The _Promotion of Elfish Welfare_ had records of every house elf in Britain, always up to date where elves were now working, who they were working for and how safe they were. Usually Hermione had workers who would be sent out to the homes of elves, see the families and find out how they were being treated. But when it came to old pure-blooded families she preferred to go herself. It's not that she didn't trust her workers but, well, she went to school with most of these people and knew exactly what they were like.

It rested her conscience knowing that every magical creature was being treated decently now. Which, thanks to the new laws that had been laid down by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, had improved greatly. House elves and many other creatures, which had previously been mistreated, now had rights. Though, that is not to say they are always treated well even with scheduled check ups. If found guilty of abuse, the _Promotion of Elfish Welfare_ fines severely for mistreating elves and puts one strike against anyone over the age of eighteen for a short sentence in Azkaban. And though the sentence is brief, Azkaban's horrible enough to make abusing house elves not worth the time. Though, there is the odd family who doesn't care.

So, hence why Hermione Granger is sitting at Theodore Nott's table. But none of that explains his lateness. Again. As said before, this was the third time they'd rescheduled. Where in the name of Merlin could he have gotten off to this time? Nott was a busy man these days and Hermione understood that almost better than anyone, but constantly wasting her time like this was nothing short of rude. He knew she would be here today. He had set the day himself.

She waited a few more minutes, drumming her fingers on the table in irritation, and when she was sure she could not wait any longer, went back round to the fireplace and grabbed a handful of floo power.

But before the words 'Promotion of Elfish Welfare' could leave her mouth, she hesitated and glanced around, wondering if maybe she should check around for any elves, maybe she could get them to tell her the information she needs. But in order for it to be confirmed, Nott had to be there too.

Inwardly groaning to herself, Hermione left the idea alone and in a flash of bright green flames was back in the familiar building.

But the new sight that greeted her was not what she had expected. Everything was familiar but the _people._ She had to blink several times just to double check that the tiredness wasn't over coming her and that she actually was seeing what she was seeing.

The whole bloody lobby was in chaos.

Perhaps she shouldn't have been surprised, what with the way everything else in her life was going. Everything seemed chaos. She just never dreamed that the chaos would also overcome her co-workers. People were running backwards and forwards, all either yelling or whispering fervently to each other, running up and down the stairs (how the women ran down them in their tight business skirts she'll never know), telephones ringing off the hooks but no one answering them, the fireplaces at the sides constantly bursting in green flames as people left and arrived through them, all looking highly alarmed.

Someone else arrived in the same fireplace she had, and Hermione was pushed aside as a Ministry worker trampled past her. This stamped away her former bewilderment and sprang her into action. Quickly, without entirely knowing where she was going, Hermione walked through the crowd of running people, eyes scanning for someone she knew to ask what on earth was gong on (the noise was too much to even bother catching pieces of conversation). But everyone's faces were just blurs as they sprinted past her, often bumping into her side and causing her to stumble. She considered for a moment seizing some stranger and demanding to know what was going on, but she somehow doubted the ability to get a hold of one.

And then everything in the world seemed to stop for a moment as she caught a flash of ginger from the corner of her eye. Suddenly, momentarily, Hermione felt rooted to the spot as their eyes locked from across the crowded floor.

Ron.

Her heart thudded violently in her chest. Mouth went inexplicably dry. He was here.

It was stupid because she knew very well she could not and that things were different and would always be different now, but Hermione wanted nothing more than to run and jump into his warm embrace. It's strange how sometimes you don't even realise how impulsively you miss a person until they're there in front of you. If she thought she had missed Ron before, it was nowhere near compared to this. This unrecoverable ache in her chest. The need to go to him.

It seemed like a very long time that they stared at each other, when it was actually more or less a few seconds, until Harry, who Hermione only noticed was there along with a few other Aurors she recognised, gave Ron a nudge and said something to him impatiently. Ron, whose eyes had not yet left Hermione's, nodded to Harry and all of them quickly pushed their way past the panic stricken people she'd nearly forgotten about and went towards the exit behind her – Ron now taking care not to look at her until they were at the door, sparing a quick glance behind him as they left and strode down the streets of Diagon Alley.

Hermione was certain they were doing Auror business, and there was a nagging voice in the back of her head telling her not to interfere, that this was their job, to catch dark wizards and it was none of her concern. Except, with the way the lobby's occupants were acting and how many Aurors had shown up, she thought maybe this was a little bigger than just one dark wizard, that maybe this one was someone very important. And dangerous.

_Don't go, don't go, don't go,_the voice of logic was nagging.

Hermione looked around her once more, at the chaos and people frantically speaking to one another, then strode out the doors and ran after them.

She had to run to catch up, each Auror glancing down every alleyway and store window they passed. They must have heard her approach though, because as she grew nearer all five spun around, pointing their wands directly at her.

Both Harry and Ron lowered theirs immediately when they saw her.

"Damn it, what's _she_ doing here, Potter?" the one Hermione vaguely knew to be Lucas Marshall snapped, looking more than a little disappointment she wasn't the wizard they were hunting. Without waiting for an answer, he turned and carried on his way up the street, the others gradually following. Ron was the last to go (she hoped her hurt and longing for him hadn't shown on her face). After that, it was just her and Harry.

"What're you doing here?" he said in exasperation.

"I'm coming with you." She crossed her arms over her chest and stared defiantly at him.

"Hermione, I really don't have the time for this."

"Then lets go." And without so much of waiting for a reply, she pulled him along after the others. Hermione knew how this worked; she'd fought and found and destroyed horcruxes for god's sake, and Harry knew she wasn't a little girl to protect. He knew that when it came to dark wizards, Hermione Granger knew her stuff.

They surveyed the deserted streets, shops and alleyways, casting spells along the way to destroy any protection or concealment charm that may have been used, all the while keeping an eye and ear out of anything unusual.

Then, there was a scream, the sounds of struggles carried over to where Hermione and Harry where searching, and someone was yelling, "We've got them! Quick!"

Everything seemed to pause as Harry and Hermione rounded the corner to the appointed alleyway. Hermione saw Aurors running towards them from different directions, dark cloaked silhouettes in the centre of the alleyway, about five or so all crowded around something. One of them had a very firm hold on somebody Hermione knew straight away as Armstrong. Her anxiety increased as the silhouette's raised their heads.

Panicked, many bolted down the streets and Aurors pushed past Harry and Hermione to chase them around the other end of the alley. But Hermione barely noticed this, for silver blond hair had caught her attention now that some had cleared away from the circle. She could clearly see what it was they'd been crowding around, or rather _whom_.

Malfoy was standing there, apparently unharmed, in front of one of the persons who had yet to flee with a black-gloved hand outstretched to him. Malfoy's hand was also outstretched, as though he was going to take it. Hermione's breath caught in her throat as she registered what was happening.

When Malfoy noticed her there, he dropped his hand quickly, but that did not make up for what she had seen. Not at all.

Ron was abruptly beside Harry again, and, being a full believer of 'act first, ask questions later', he stepped forward impetuously, his hatred for Malfoy clouding everything else.

"Expelliarmus!" he shouted.

Malfoy deflected it with a swish of his wand and fired back. "Stupefy!"

And that was the last of Hermione's patience. It was one thing to be about to shake a Death Eaters hand (she could no longer pretend that's not what they were), but it was completely another to try and Stupefy Ron.

"Protego!" With speed she would later admire, Hermione had put herself protectively in front of Ron. Malfoy's spell successfully changed direction and, for a second, she was sure it would hit him, but then he also used a shield charm and the red light swerved into a wall.

There was a pause. No one said anything or moved. Tension filled the air. Harry, Derek and Ron suddenly ran ahead, and both Death Eaters also ran like the lot before them out of the alley.

That left Malfoy and Hermione, who were both staring darkly into each other's eyes, breathing heavily.

And then jets of light were flying out of their wands, spells soaring in every direction around them and the longest, most temperamental duel Hermione could ever remember having broke out.

* * *

**next chapter: hermione's distraught over something/someone and draco has to decide whether or not to get involved.**

** believe it or not, they actually have a tender moment. i think it's one of my favourites, actually.**

**i cherish each and every review, thank you! :) **


	14. the sting of love

_"In times of grief and sorrow I will hold you and rock you, and take your grief and make it my own. When you cry, I cry, and when you hurt, I hurt. And together we will try to hold back the floods of tears and despair and make it through the potholed streets of life."_

—_ Nicholas Sparks_

* * *

Draco had never been a man to think things through. Actually, no male thought anything through, but this time was much worse. For instance, when he was in fourth year, he'd brought Pansy Parkinson with him to the Yule Ball. Now, if he hadn't have done that and taken Daphne Greengrass instead, he probably wouldn't have had to deal with the strain of their relationship for two years afterwards, nor would he have met Astoria and, on the whole, life would be slightly easier to live with.

But no, Draco had not learned when he was fourteen and neither had he when he was sixteen and he'd tried to kill Dumbledore. It hadn't dawned on him at the time that he was going to be taking away an actual life, and not just anybody's, but one of the supposedly greatest wizards of all time, which he still didn't entirely accept.

And now he'd done it again. He had been about to jump into a life of dark deeds all over again. Only moments ago, he had thought of it as his way out. Surely they couldn't be as bad now as when the Dark Lord had ruled. Surely it was better than how the 'good guys' were treating him. But he hadn't thought past that, he hadn't thought what it would do to his parents, he hadn't thought what to do if it were a trap, and he hadn't thought what would happen if Granger found out. Or more or less, caught him in the act.

He'd wanted to get under her skin and bother her as much as possible, that was still true, he'd wanted her to crack. But now that she had, it wasn't in the way he'd been hoping for.

She was standing opposite of him, casting spell after spell after spell at him and each time Draco deflected it and occasionally aimed one back at her. He'd thought she would be fun to antagonise, but looking at the fury on her face, he supposed this time he'd gone too far.

But that still didn't make it okay for her to try and bloody well kill him.

"Stupefy!"

Draco made his move, ducking swiftly under red light narrowly missing his head, he launched himself at Granger's midriff with such force that both hit the cold stonewall with a grunt.

"Malfoy – let – go!" she panted, kicking and withering against him as he tightly wrapped his hands around her wrists, pinning them to her sides.

"I don't think so, Granger," he breathed back.

"You are incorrigible!" she cried, still furiously fighting for freedom.

He wished she'd stop doing that; her constant moving only pressed her body even closer to his. It was bad enough he was at this close proximity, but Merlin, she was only making it worse for herself. He was sure his tight hold on her must be hurting. The sooner she calmed down the sooner he'd let go.

"Stop it, would you?" he said hotly.

"And if I don't?"

"Then I'll –"

"Slap me?" she challenged. "Because, hey, you've been there once, why not do it again?"

That was when he lost all pretence, shoved her savagely into the wall and turned away on his heel. He was done. The day he had agreed to his mother was the day everything started falling to pieces. He honestly couldn't have cared less about the stupid family's reputation. He did not understand why they couldn't just be Death Eaters already; no one here seemed to be too welcoming on the good side.

WHACK.

Something slammed vigorously into Draco's back and he stumbled forwards a few feet, only regaining his balance when his hand found the wall.

He peered over his shoulder to see what on earth had the audacity to hit him and the words died in his mouth, which did not often happen often when you were Draco Malfoy.

Granger was standing there, her chest heaving from under her once pale blue blouse that was covered in dirt marks and fingerprints, sweat radiating off her forehead and nose, eyes set and determined.

"You're not turning your back on me or going anywhere until you tell me what you were doing with them."

There was a kind of authority in her words that Draco didn't think he had heard there before. A girl had never, ever obtained the nerve to speak to him like that. All they did was fawn over him and giggle absurdly at everything he said. They never dared to _challenge_ him. It was wasn't heard of. It was preposterous. He almost admired – hold on, no he did not, but he did feel compelled to tell her exactly what he was doing with those Death Eaters and everything that had gone through his mind. Quite obviously, Draco didn't, and instead took to turning to face her fully with his jaw set. This was none of her business.

And then, as though she had read his mind, she said, "This affects me too. You were being friendly with Death Eaters and I want to know what's going on or you're moving out the moment we return to the apartment. I cannot just blindly trust you here, Malfoy."

"We made an Unbreakable Vow, Granger," he said, volatile.

"We did," she agreed. "Albeit, I have no idea what it is you're up to and if you're going to be hanging around your old friends I want no part in it!"

"That's –"

"I could come home one day from tea with Ginny and find Death Eaters gathered around my table!"

"Do you really believe I'd ever lead them to your shitty flat, where the best friend of Harry Potter lives?"

"It'd certainly put you on higher terms with them, wouldn't it?"

"I'd never do that," he said seriously.

"Care about me, then?" she taunted.

"No," he said at once. "Just if you die, I die, remember?"

She wasn't impressed. "Yes, because we can't have that, can we? What a devastation _that_ would be."

He scowled. "Who died and made you the bitch of sarcasm?"

With a very nasty look, Granger seized his hand and without warning Apparated back into the familiar flat. Both let go of each other's hand straight away, Draco still scowling.

"You shouldn't do that without –"

"You were making a deal back there, weren't you?"

"No."

"Don't lie!" she exclaimed. "When I said you could work for me, that was tolerable. But living with me was another matter. Can't you understand why I'm so wary about that? It's bizarre. I hadn't seen you for four years much less even thought of you for four seconds and then you tell me to stock the fridge with apples because you're moving in. You've been an arse to me the whole time you've been here; you hit me, now you're conversing with Death Eaters. I think I deserve some kind of explanation because I have been more than –!"

"Fine!" Draco threw his hands in the air. "They offered me to abandon everything and go with them."

There was a pause in which she watched him closely, possibly debating with herself whether or not he was lying.

"But I thought they hated you…?" she said slowly.

"I know." He started pacing, running a hand through his hair. "I did too."

"What's the point in having more Death Eaters?"

"No idea."

"Did you agree?" she asked, a little fearful.

He halted and met her eyes. It was a very still moment, her brown orbs searching his for some kind of comfort, some kind of proof that she hadn't seen what she had. Granger was always one for believing the best in people. And he knew that was her weakness: believing in people when others thought they were beyond repair, seeing past everyone's flaws and always seeing something worthwhile.

He wondered if she could see anything worthwhile in him. That was foolish, of course. After everything that had transpired between them, she couldn't, ever in a million years, think there was any atonement left in him.

And like that, looking at her in that instant, he realised that she did. Realised why after he hit her he'd had the impression she'd given up on him. Not only trying to keep the peace between them, but all along she'd been attempting to help him out, to put up with his attitude because she believed he could be better.

Then he went ahead and slapped her.

"You saw what you saw Granger," he murmured, finally dropping his gaze to the floor. "I was going to shake his hand."

He went up the stairs, taking two at a time, and only when his hand was on his doorknob did she say something, "But you were hesitating," he looked at her in amazement, "and the prospect that you knew it was wrong is at least something."

He had no idea how he felt about that. He should probably be repulsed that he was allowing this moment, for once, to not be about blood statues or how much they hated each other or how different they really were. But then and there, he surprisingly didn't care.

* * *

A few days passed and they never spoke of it again. He thought this strange. Granger was notorious for nagging and badgering people. Perhaps she sensed that this situation was different than Potter's usual dramas. Perhaps when it really came down to it, she understood when to hold her tongue.

Things continued on as they had been, there was no unnecessary conversation and they only ever came into contact with each other when passing in the small hallway, or walking by each other around the table or kitchen, where their arms would gently brush and briefly would he catch her eye.

Draco knew he was unhappy, he kept wondering and wondering why join the Death Eaters again – just what was the point? Potter and Weasley had not caught all of them that day in Diagon Alley. Apparently, they were in such a fury that it had Granger constantly leaving the flat at ridiculous hours to just calm Potter down. It seemed every Auror in the country was looking for the liberated Death Eaters of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and letting them slip out from under their noses like that, when most were vulnerable and in a group, had been disastrous. He didn't really care what happened to them though; it wasn't his problem. Armstrong had been off to questioning by the Ministry of Magic, being asked every question imaginable. From what Draco overheard when Granger was talking to Bun Woman, Armstrong had been on his own lunch break like Jennings had been, and he'd been cornered by the Death Eaters and asked about Draco's whereabouts, and because Armstrong had been the last person to direct him to the freaking ice cream store, of course he would know exactly where Draco had been going.

As imagined, being seen with former Death Eaters did not do well for Draco's reputation. It was published in the _Daily Prophet_ very soon after Potter, Weasley, the other Aurors and Granger had been questioned. Obviously no one cared for his side of the story, and once again, just when everyone had become used to seeing his face around the office, they were all gaping at him with fear and whispering behind his back again. Times like this he really needed Blaise.

Turns out he wasn't the only one in need of a friend. It was Friday night when he heard Granger's sobs, louder than usual, from inside her room and carrying over to his. Normally he could ignore this as she only sniffled softly or managed to smother it most of the time, but this time it really was too much. He had no idea why she was even crying and nor did he care. What he did care about, however, was that she was interrupting his sleep, and sleep was hard to come by as it was.

Grumbling under his breath, Draco flung the sheets off himself, grabbed a cotton t-shirt from the end of the bed and slipped it on before going to her room. He thought maybe he should give her the tiniest of warnings, so he slammed on the door with his hand and then, after a pause, pulled it open with the other.

There was a dull light on her bedside table, giving the whole room a kind of warm glow as it shone weakly on light pink wallpaper, there were shelves of even more books than there already was downstairs on the wall opposite him, where her double bed with white and lilac sheets was spread out just across from the books (he thought the bookshelves were placed so close to the bed so Granger could simply reach out to them if she wished). A wooden wardrobe was placed at the wall facing her bed, which was to Draco's right, and a little way along was a rocking chair with no more than three frilly pillows, a blue blanket, and under that was Granger.

Her hand was resting on her forehead; her elbow perked on the chair's arm, her legs curled underneath her and lips trembling. A book was lying on the floor a few feet away from her. She hadn't paid any mind to him yet, her hand kind of covering her eyes as well as her forehead, but then she gave a sniffle, wiped her tears, and looked at Draco.

"You look like hell," was the only thing that came out of his mouth. He couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from the redness of hers.

She hiccuped and a few more tears spilled down her flushed cheeks. "Thanks."

"Why do you keep crying?" he asked, failing to hide his annoyance. "You've been doing it for a while now but tonight it's –"

"Ron found out," she said softly.

"What?" He took a reluctant step in the room, waiting for her to jump up and shout at him. She didn't.

"When all those Ministry workers tried to get answers from us…" her voice cracked, "to get more insight on what happened with those Death Eaters… one let it slip out about you working for me."

He rolled his eyes. "Oh come on, Granger, he was bound to find out eventually."

"He didn't take it well," she went on shrilly as a sob racked her body. "He was yelling, at me and then at Harry because he already knew and then he started throwing things and –" She hiccuped and sucked in a deep breath. "The look on his face, you should have seen it. He looked at me as though I was contaminated, as though I disgusted him. I – I don't know how we're going to – to get through this one…" Her head fell in her hands, seemingly incapable to finish.

Draco didn't know what to do. She was crying. Sobbing. In hysterics. A mess. Hermione Granger had lost it and he wasn't even enjoying it. It was actually kind of scary, seeing someone from your childhood who'd almost always held it together crumble like this.

Pretty much all of him wanted to run, and he could do it right now if he wanted: he could leave and close the door behind him and forget that any of this had ever happened, or perhaps even tease her about it in the morning when he'd regained his wits. It must be about three in the morning for Christ's sake. The door was not even four feet away, he could leave right this second – Weasley's temperamental trust issues weren't his problem.

But Draco knew what it was like to be abandoned in your worse moments and instead his foot moved forward and slowly, steadily, he began to cross the space of the room to where the weeping Granger sat, her arms now folded around her legs and hugging them tightly against her.

He paused only when he was right in front of her, not really sure how to go about this or even what he was going to do. He'd witnessed many sobbing girls in his twenty-two years, but that's because they were always sobbing over him, not sobbing over some other guy (a guy he didn't even like, he might add).

Draco sighed heavily, still standing awkwardly before her. "Listen, Granger, I – I'm not going to say I know how you feel because I know whenever someone says that it always ticks me off. No one really knows how _you_ feel. No one knows what it's like to be you… unless they've drank Polyjuice Potion."

She laughed languidly, but she was still in the middle of sobbing so it came out as a kind of snort. Nevertheless, he felt a small amount of satisfaction and… and something else. He wanted to think it was distaste because that noise she had made was truly unflattering, but he knew he'd be deluding himself.

Draco crouched down tentatively and thought very carefully about something else he could say to make her feel better, but at the moment it was like all words had left the planet and none he could think of were the right ones to say.

Swallowing, he tried, "I can't offer you the words to suddenly make it all okay, but," – oh lord, if his father could he him now – "but I'll listen, you know, if there's any blabbering you need to do or any punching, just you know… do it," he finished lamely.

Next second, in a swish of blue sheets, she had unravelled herself from the blanket and practically thrown herself at him, arms going tightly and securely around his neck and burying her face against his shoulder.

Normally his first reaction would be to shove her off, and he very nearly did, what with the shock of it all. He had only said she could talk them both to death (she used to always do that anyhow), he'd only said she could hit him if she desired (because she'd already done that as well), but he had said nothing about this sort of physical contact.

But what was truly intriguing was the way she clung to him, as though he were the only thing keeping her alive. Like if she let go, she'd be lost forever. He'd never had anyone hold him like that. Truthfully, he shagged whomever he wanted and left it at that – there were no cuddling and mushy feelings. The only time he'd been in a proper relationship was with Pansy, and even the hugging was at a bare minimum. All she did was hang off him.

This was different. No one had ever hugged him because they needed the warmth of another, the comfort. It made his stomach feel… weird. And not in the aroused way. The whole thing stirred something deep within him awake, as though there'd been some kind of feeling that had never been felt before – that had been missed, dormant, all along.

He thought about pulling away, he didn't like where this was going.

Her voice stopped him.

"I miss him," she whispered thickly.

"What?"

"You asked why I'd been upset, I miss Ron."

"You've been crying over _Weasley _every night?"

"No, just – just when I have a really bad day." He didn't say anything, partly because he knew a lot of those bad days happened because of him, and then she gave a broken little laugh and said, "Whenever I would have a horrible day at work, Ron would always cheer me up by attempting to prepare dinner without magic. He can't cook, you see. And just watching him destroy our whole kitchen somehow lifted my spirits, though it probably shouldn't have. A lot of the time he caught his hair on fire but it's so red you couldn't notice anyway…"

And so he listened. She talked about Weasley all through the night, laughing as she reminisced old times she'd had with him, crying again as she talked about the things he did that'd hurt her. Other times it seemed as if she were only speaking to herself and had forgotten all about him.

Draco had just started drifting off to sleep after a long silence when she abruptly asked, "Have you ever been in love?"

Silence met her words, and suddenly he was very much awake. He contemplated pretending to be asleep, that way he wouldn't have to answer, but how could anyone fall fully asleep in a sitting position? They were still both on the ground in front of the rocking chair; Draco's back resting uncomfortably against her bedpost as she leaned into him, his chest completely drenched where her face was, dark sweet smelling frizzy hair tickling his lips as he breathed in and out.

"I thought I was once," he said slowly. "Trouble was, I didn't know who."

"Who?" she asked puzzled.

"I didn't know if I loved Pansy or Astoria."

He waited for her disapproving McGonagall impression to happen, but it never came.

"Well," she said quietly after a moment, "as the talented Johnny Depp once said –"

"Johnny what?"

"– if you love two people at the same time, choose the second one, because if you really loved the first one you wouldn't have fallen for the second."

He paused to think this over.

"Of course," Granger mused softly, "it's also quite possible to have more than one true love. It's really sort of stupid when you think about it. There are billions of people on the planet, naturally you're going to have more than –"

"Do you believe in love, Granger?" he asked suddenly.

She too went very quiet, just as he had. He listened to her soft breathing, no longer ragged, and waited for her reply. When she finally did answer, she seemed very far anyway and Draco once again had the impression she'd forgotten he was there.

"It's something nice to believe in, don't you think?"

He supposed yes, it was nice to think there was someone out there right for you. But that didn't necessarily make it real. In all honest, he always thought love was just something made up by people who didn't want to believe that this really was it. There was nothing else.

It was only when Draco's head began to loll hopelessly on his shoulder much later on, drifting in and out of a restless doze, did she tell him that today was her birthday.

* * *

**next chapter: hermione finds a fellow student in the missing section of the daily prophet, blaise returns, another dreadful letter, and draco gets drunk enough to finally speak his mind. **

**and do not be fooled or worried. while this chapter may have been a huge step forward, neither are anywhere near falling in love. i guess this part was to show that, while draco is a dicknose turd waffle, he's evolved from what he used to be. sort of. not much, but it's there wayyyy wayyyyyyy down.**


	15. a drunken mind speaks a sober heart

_"__Let me tell you this: if you meet a loner, no matter what they tell you, it's not because they enjoy solitude. It's because they have tried to blend into the world before, and people continue to disappoint them."_

—_Jodi Picoult_

* * *

The following morning, Hermione needed no reminder as to why she felt like a Flobberworm. Ron's cold words and his face contorted into a ferocious fury were still fresh in her memory. Though, it did take her a while to remember just who had come to her aid last night.

When the image of Malfoy and her on the floor, arms wrapped tightly around each other came flooding through her head once more, her eyes darted straight away to the exact spot at the foot of her bed.

The blue blanket was spread out over the peach carpet, frilly pillows that had fallen from the rocking chair scattered, her book amongst them.

She remembered yesterday very well indeed. How Malfoy had gladly left the office without her needing to tell him (he always left before her anyway), which had then left her to look over some last minute papers regarding Nott's inability to show up for scheduled meetings, and then on her way out receiving an urgent message from Harry. She knew Malfoy wouldn't care where she ran off to so without further thought she'd arrived at his house as soon as possible.

Hermione thought Harry or Ron merely needed some soothing and reassuring over the incident in Diagon Alley again; she hadn't been prepared to come face to face with Ministry workers, who tried to get descriptions of the Death Eaters. But it was almost, always entirely useless to try and describe a fully cloaked Death Eater. But they did the best that they could. It was when,_ 'And why was Mr. Malfoy involved? You would know, wouldn't you, Miss. Granger? You're currently living together, are you not?'_ was asked, did everything, which had already been hanging delicately by a single thread, fall apart.

She remembered standing in front of the door, wiping away at her eyes furiously and taking deep rattling breaths before entering her own flat as normal as she could. She remembered hearing the thudding of her own heart in her ears as she climbed stair after stair, one step, two step, three, four, five; and then entering her bedroom quietly, resisting the bizarre urge to kick the door shut after herself. Hermione remembered numbly picking up a book from the bedside table and sitting in the rocking chair, throwing the blanket on top of her. She remembered trying to read harmoniously and determinedly, but the words would not sink in – her eyes scanning across pages that may as well have been blank. Hermione did not remember at what point she threw the book at the wall, she did not know when she started to cry.

She now rubbed her singing eyes, no doubt also swollen, and sighed softly to herself as she glanced at the closed door. There hadn't been much talk when Malfoy had stood and gone off to bed, she didn't even think he looked back at her.

Hermione was almost afraid to go downstairs, the embarrassment and shame and fear of facing him becoming very real to her now. She wished she had cried quieter, or that she had kicked him out, or that he'd acted like his usual self and shouted at her to shut it. She couldn't even wrap her brain around the truth that he'd _comforted_ her. What she found even more peculiar was he hadn't even considered a silencing charm on his room, that's all it would have taken and he'd have heard no more from her.

It felt like a very long time that she stared at the door (so long she could almost hear it mocking her, just standing there in all its wooden glory), seriously debating with herself if she couldn't simply live in her room for the rest of the year.

Hermione really didn't know what it was about him that had her so intimidated. But she wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing, so with her head held high, she slowly descended the staircase, Crookshanks at her heels.

He wasn't there.

At this time he was always stuffing his face with something apple flavoured, chewing noisily. Her theory was he either did this so as to get a reaction out of her or to test out her mood – the better she was feeling, the more _likely_ she would be to snap at him. Crazy as it was.

But there was no loud chewing this morning, and she almost missed it. Almost.

Mashing up some left over tuna, Hermione laid the bowl down for Crookshanks and made herself a cup of coffee, grabbed the copy of the _Daily Prophet_ waiting for her at the door and sat down at the table.

She skimmed through it as she usually did, checking for Harry the missing wizards and witches collum as she had promised. For starters, she'd been highly sceptical, but as more and more moving photographs would appear in the _Prophet,_from a different picture each week to a new one every few days, she could no longer overlook it and was beginning to consider he was right. Thankfully, Hermione barely recognised the names or faces, and when she did it was never someone she had known directly.

Thursday it had been Walter Flunders, yesterday it was Luis Bagwater, and today it was…

There was a clunk as she knocked over the coffee mug, and steaming dark brown liquid seeped over the face of Theodore Nott.

* * *

"Yes… yes… oh god, _yes!"_

"Harder!"

"Oh… ahh, yes."

Draco clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his sniggers as he pressed his ear firmer against his neighbour's door. He could hear very plainly the headboard slamming repeatedly into the wall and was quite certain at any moment they'd break through it. They were really going at it, he had no idea how he'd never heard them from his room before: the sounds were noisy enough to be heard from three floors down. Crouching further, he listened even more intently, highly entertained.

"Oh, there you are," came a small voice from up the hall. "Listen Malfoy, there's something you should –"

At the sound of her voice, Draco's head snapped up so quickly he hit the doorknob, a flush creeping over his pale cheeks from both being caught and the events of last night rushing back.

Granger's bloodshot eyes looked from him, to the door where groans were still issuing from, and back again. Judging by the way her lips twitched at the sides, she was torn between amusement and disapproval.

"What were you going?"

"Nothing," he said quickly, shuffling his feet guiltily. "I was just, ah…" His eyes swept over the painfully boring and slightly cracked wooden door (perhaps they'd also had sex on that?) and said, "I was examining the wood."

She raised her eyebrows.

"Are they always so… loud?" he asked casually.

She leaned against the wall, arms folded. "Yes."

"Then how come we don't hear –?"

"I magicked the flat, as have most other residents. Zoe and Matthew, they can get very… obstreperous."

His awkwardness faded, and soon he was smirking at her. "Peeved you couldn't get any of your own, Granger?"

She smirked back. "Says the one with his ear practically glued to their door."

Draco looked at her in mild surprise, his eyes fixed on that uncharacteristic smirk upon her lips. But then she flushed from under his intense gaze, and as soon as it had come, the smirk was gone and turned into an expression of unease. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and her gaze flickered away. Now it was she who shifted from foot to foot as though guilty.

"What?" Draco asked.

She hesitated for several moments, and then said almost inaudibly, "Have you seen the _Daily Prophet_ this morning?"

His brow creased. "Of course not. Not when I know they're going to have negative stuff written about –"

"There's something you ought to know, Malfoy."

* * *

"Never leave me like that again," Draco said pleadingly.

Blaise gave him a cocky grin as he replaced his dozens of boxes back in their original spots around his flat. "If I had a Galleon for every time someone said that to me."

"You'd have one."

Blaise feigned a look of outrage. "How dare you."

"You love me."

Blaise rolled his eyes as he charmed more boxes to fly over their heads from outside.

"How was your mother by the way?" Draco asked after a moment, arms folded over his chest, watching box after box zoom past. "You were back sooner than I expected."

He shrugged. "All right, I suppose. She's not thrilled about another relationship failing her but she'll be okay. She's tough."

"I hate to say it mate, but she's had a lot of bad relationships. Remember that guy who had to poke everyone in the nose four times when he met them?"

Blaise grinned. "He was weird." He paused. "I liked him."

"Because you had a lot in common?" Draco teased, jumping back as Blaise made a box zoom past him much closer than was necessary.

"_Nooo_, I liked him because he reminded me of you. Freak."

Draco smiled. "Twat."

"So, if I may ask, what brings you over here? I understand perfectly the part about needing to see my sexiness, I am irresistible, but I'm also psychic and my mystical powers tell me you are in need to tell me something."

Draco's smile faltered. He had intended on coming here to see his best friend equally as much as he'd intended to tell him of Theodore's disappearance. But he hadn't thought further than that, being much too relieved to have Blaise back. He did not know how to say to someone that a friend, the boy who'd sat beside them in Potions for six years up until sixteen, someone they had known since eleven, was now gone quite possibly forever. So he just came out with it.

"Theo's missing."

There was a stretched silence. Blaise did not react at first. In fact, the only sign that showed he had heard Draco at all was when he smashed a box he'd been levitating through the door. From the cracking and clattering, Draco thought it to have been filled with cutlery.

Blaise's smile had completely vanished when he looked at Draco now. It wasn't often anybody ever saw the serious side to him.

Finally, he nodded. "I know."

Another pause.

"You know, I can't…" Draco gave a hollow laugh. "I can't even remember the last time I saw him."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"I think the last time I saw him was in Obscurus Books in Diagon Alley."

"A book store, of course he'd be in there."

"It's a wonder he and Granger were never buddies at Hogwarts, imagine the boring conversations they'd have had." He was silent for a second before adding hesitantly, "We should never have drifted apart."

Draco shot him an irritated look. "You wouldn't've if you didn't fight with him."

"And what else was I supposed to do? Just allow for him to speak about you like that?"

"Everyone else hated me, it doesn't –"

"It matters," he cut in, holding up a hand to silence Draco, "because Theodore was supposed to be your friend, no matter what everyone else thought of you."

"Daphne was his girlfriend, 'course he'd take her side."

"Girlfriends come and go, friends are forever."

He scowled. "You're sounding like a Gryffindor."

"To be honest with you, I don't give a damn. It wasn't your fault what happened to Astoria, it couldn't have been helped –"

It was Draco's turn to hold up a hand for silence. "Don't go there, Blaise. I really would rather forget it."

"Fine. I just don't think he should –"

To his luck, Draco was saved from replying when there was a tapping at the window. Both their heads swerved around to see a horned owl nestled on the windowsill, his chocolate feathers ruffled from the chilly morning breeze. Blaise strode over to let him in and went for the letter, but the owl gave him a very dark look and took flight to Draco, landing with a dignified hoot on his shoulder.

Blaise pouted, something he'd always unintentionally done when he was put out about something.

"What?" Draco asked without looking up, untying the letter from the owl's leg.

"I wanted a letter," he whined.

Draco snorted and unfolded the parchment. Blaise scurried closer so as to read over his shoulder. The owl glared at him.

_Draco,_

_It has come to my attention that you were seen with wanted Death…_

He skipped that. Natalie Hopkins' ramblings went on for three solid paragraphs in writing so dainty and selective it didn't even look handwritten. She was scolding him as though he was a misbehaving child, completely missing the point that he wasn't even her child or part of their family yet. The only woman who had the authority to preach him like this was his own mother, and even then he hardly listened.

There was only one particular sentence that caught his attention. He read it over three times, the words gradually seeping into his brain, and then swore loudly; the owl on his shoulder took refuge on a nearby chair, Blaise gave a startled jolt beside him.

_Of course, bringing along Ms. Granger would not only give me the delightful opportunity to meet her, but it would also allow myself insight to your friendship with her, which I can only assume is a strong one. Why else would you be living together? If possible, I'd like to docket this meet-up sometime early next week. Dates and times will be further discussed by me with your mother and you'll be notified as soon as possible._

_Have a splendid day, and do think about what I said._

_Natalie Hopkins_

"Well, bringing her couldn't be all that bad, could it?" asked Blaise hesitantly. "She's really not that –"

"She's horrible, no matter what you say," Draco snapped, crumpling the parchment into a ball and hurling it at the wall.

"Mate, come on. You're a bit unreasonable when it comes to Granger."

"You're on her side?" he demanded incredulously.

"No, but –"

"God, do you even know what I have been through with her since you left?"

"Obviously not. So tell me. Tell me why you can't be civil with her."

Draco groaned. He'd really set himself up for disaster. But Blaise, for whatever reason, was his friend. So he told him everything that had happened, failing to avoid mentioning when he'd hit her, which Blaise had not been impressed with. When he'd finished, both were sitting on the plastic covered couches, Draco looking ahead at nothing in particular as Blaise watched his every move, silent for the most part.

"You comforted her," he finally said, and Draco shifted under his intensified gaze. "Why?"

"It wasn't intentionally," he said defensively.

"There are a variety of ways to have quietened Granger without going to her directly."

"What do you want from me Blaise?" he snapped. "I don't want to talk about this."

"It's just I've known you all my life, and never do I think I've seen you look after someone other than –"

"Don't," he said through clenched teeth. And though Blaise didn't finish the sentence, the last word hung in the air around them like a heavy rain cloud: Astoria. "I wasn't looking after her, it was late and I wasn't thinking properly and it was her birthday and –"

"People can only lie to themselves for so long before the truth hits," said Blaise quietly, "and when it does, it's a harsh awakening."

* * *

SMASH.

"Now what did you do?" Hermione called wearily, and when all she head in response was Malfoy sniggering to himself, she looked up from her book and called a little louder. "Malfoy! What did you do?"

"Have you always had three cats?" came his voice casually from upstairs.

"No, there's only one," said Hermione, rubbing her forehead. She could feel a headache coming on. Malfoy had practically fallen through the door a little more than an hour ago and was very drunk. So far, he'd managed to break two vases and five plates, tried wearing a flashing Christmas sock on his head which did not belong to him, so where he'd gotten that would be forever a mystery, and had attempted to speak with the television, apparently convinced the people inside it were trapped. At first Hermione had tried to slip him a Draught of Peace potion in hopes of slowly wearing him out to sleep, but Malfoy had caught her and then proceeded to take shelter upstairs in the laundry room, certain Hermione was a sadistic murderer with three cats; a 'sadistic crazy cat lady murderer' he had called it.

So now she was on the lounge chair, book in hand, and was keeping an ear out of any sounds of Malfoy dying or passing out. Unfortunately, he was very much far from it at the moment, but she knew it had to be soon. He was very good holding his liquor, if it had been Hermione, she'd have been out cold long ago.

"Where's my… wand go?" His words were beginning to slur.

"No idea," she lied, shoving his wand further under the pillows. No way was he going to be armed. "What did you need if for?"

"I wanna cut this pineapple."

"Mhm, great well – wait, what?" Her head jerked up. "Where did you get a pineapple from? I didn't buy any."

"I dunno. I just wanna cut it."

"Why…?" Hermione asked slowly, her head inclined in the direction his voice was drifting from.

"What do you think?" he snapped. "To see Spongebob, of course."

It was at this point did Hermione begin to think allowing television into the wizarding world was not a good idea.

"I've always wondered, how does his house have corners if he lives in a pineapple?" he went on. "And how does Patrick nearly drown in an underwater beach?"

"What?"

"You know that episode where Spongebob gets to be a lifeguard, and then he has to save Patrick from drowning and –?"

"Yes, yes, I remember. I just didn't know you liked that show."

He gave a very drunken laugh that came to an abrupt end when hiccups took over.

What felt like hours later, when in actual fact it had only been twenty minutes – twenty minutes filled with drunken musings and outbursts about very trivial things – did Hermione finally hear a loud thump. She closed her book and went up the stairs.

Malfoy was slumped against the laundry door that was left ajar, his legs sprawled out and arms limply slouched at his sides. His eyes opening and closing as if struggling to stay awake. But that wasn't what had Hermione's mouth forming a small 'o'. It was Crookshanks. What may have appeared to be a very interesting hat was in fact her fluffy ginger feline nestled on Malfoy's head as though there was no bed in existence more cosy.

She blinked a few times to assure herself that she wasn't also drunk, and pulled out her wand to levitate Malfoy back to his bedroom, Crookshanks jumping off him with a start and a very grumpy look at Hermione.

Malfoy mumbled and sniggered to himself the whole time he was hovering in the air ahead of her, and when she finally placed him softly on his large bed, he gave a sudden jerk and was sitting up, looking around wildly.

"Sorry," she said quickly, wondering if he would yell at her for being in his room, or maybe just because she had disrupted him.

But his reaction was nothing like that. Instead, when Malfoy's grey eyes fell on her he became noticeably more relaxed and leant against the headboard. Hermione watched the rise and fall of his chest carefully for any change that would tell her he'd snapped out of it, but it didn't come. He stayed calm and watched her with an expression of curiosity, as though only realising she was there.

"Granger," he said in such a quiet and reluctant voice it reminded her greatly of the tone she'd used when she was a child and had asked her parents for second helpings of candy, which had always been a bold move considering they were dentists. "I never meant to slap you."

Hermione found it odd that he brought up something that had happened months ago. And even more strange that he still seemed to be dwelling on it when she'd long ago put it behind her. She'd heard of many stories about abusive husbands, boyfriends or even friends, and those girls who'd put up with it because they were sure it never meant anything serious. And Hermione had told herself that if anything like that were to happen to her, under no circumstances would she forgive him. But for reasons she'll later wonder about, she accepted it. Not entirely, she did not think she would never really let it go, but she also couldn't ignore that this was a big milestone for Malfoy – to admit he was wrong out of his own will.

"I know," she told him, still hesitating beside the bed. "But if you ever pull something like that again Malfoy, I won't be any where near as tolerant. I'm only accepting because I'm sorry about what I said."

He was overcome with a fit of bubbly hiccups, Hermione waited until he'd subdued them, and when he next spoke, firewhiskey was much more apparent on his breath. "I had it coming."

Because she didn't know what else to say before leaving – she didn't feel they were on friendly enough terms to say a proper goodnight – Hermione reminded him of some paperwork to do before Monday that didn't even exist, and she awkwardly made to leave.

But then a strong hand enclosed itself around her wrist, and gently tugged her back. She looked down at him, completely at a loss.

"What are you –?"

"I really hated you, Potter and Weasley," was all he said.

Hermione blinked several times, studied the soft, yet somehow rough hand still holding onto her arm, and finally looked at his face. He looked very out of it, she was sure he couldn't possibly stay conscious for long.

It was with that thought that had her allowing Malfoy to pull her a little closer. He would be out soon, no matter how well he may be able to speak.

"I know you hated us," she said as though he was a small boy, and then when she noticed how close he was to falling off the edge of the bed, said, "How about you straighten yourself up? If you fall, that'll be no help to the headache you're going to have in the –"

"No, no, no. You're not listening to me, Granger," said Malfoy, looking highly frustrated all of a sudden.

"Because you're drunk Malfoy," she said fervently.

"A drunken mind speaks a sober heart," he said wisely, though he was swaying dangerously from his attempt to sit upright and it ruined the seriousness of his words.

She tried again. "You really need sleep."

"No, be quiet for once because I have been meaning to say this for a long time and it's bloody time somebody heard it." His eyes bored into hers, almost challenging her to interrupt again.

Hermione, knowing she would have to put up with a very disgruntled and drunken Malfoy if she refused, gave an annoyed groan and nodded to show he had her attention.

"No matter what happened," he continued, "it always had something to do with you lot. You always had some kind of fan club running after you and treating everybody nicely, but when it came to the evil, slimy Slytherins it was a whole different story. The whole school hated us. But I don't suppose you'd have noticed that, would you? Being too wrapped up in your own heroic plans for that."

He was slurring again, and Hermione, frowning deeply, had to bend down a little towards his bed to hear clearer.

"Once a kid was sorted into Slytherin – whoosh!" He made a flying movement with his hand, narrowly missing from knocking himself in the face. "That was it, the kid was a goner. I still remember looking around and seeing the looks on everybody's faces, every sorting, there was always that same expression of disgust on every kid's face once someone was sorted into the 'Bad House'. We were all outsiders. Especially during the war when, just because of Pansy's outburst, every single one of them was sent down to the dungeons. McGonagall didn't even offer any of them to stay from what Blaise told me. We were always the evil ones…" He trailed off, seemingly lost in whatever it was he was remembering, and Hermione couldn't help but notice just how soft his features were when he wasn't being snide with her. She kneeled down on the floor and rested her hands on the bed, now looking up at him rather than down.

"And what's a little kid supposed to do when they're sorted into Slytherin?" he went on, his voice dropping lower and lower from drowsiness. "What's an eleven year old supposed to do when even teachers are eyeing him like the next Dark Wizard? When your whole school's against you, what do you do? Nothing. So for seven years they're all made to endure the blind hatred throw their way and a lot of the time it's that that makes them so cold and mean and weld up hatred inside. Because nobody gave them a chance. Sure, some didn't go out of their way for that chance, but no one else in the other three Houses had to go out of their way or prove to someone why they should be liked. Seven years we are judged and hated… the outcasts. But then, there comes along a group of people who know exactly what that's like, who have been through it all, and they offer you to join them, where a whole heap of others are that were just like you, where you'll feel needed and wanted and accepted. Powerful. And suddenly, becoming a Death Eater doesn't sound so bad anymore."

A sadness Hermione knew would be impossible to explain to anyone fell upon her and weighed her down. She bit down on her lip, again having no idea what to say. Somehow, she felt it didn't matter; the fact that he'd gotten it off his chest seemed to be the most important thing right now.

"Granger," his voice was very soft, she knew he was not far from drifting off.

"Yes, Malfoy?" And her voice was also gentle, feeling that if she would speak normally, this strange… bizarre… yet incredibly gentle moment between them would be shattered.

"Stay?"

"Pardon?"

Malfoy was quiet so long; she thought he'd fallen asleep. But then Hermione saw him shift so he now faced her better, and his voice was even weaker than before. "Stay with me."

Three simple words, yet they had the power to render her speechless. And that was something hard to come by when you were Hermione Granger. So she didn't say anything to that, not only because she hadn't the slightest clue how to, but also because his eyes were definitely drooping now. He probably didn't even realise what he'd said, she assured herself.

True to her words, not long after, the ability to stay awake was tarnished, and Malfoy slouched against the headboard in what Hermione could only imagine being a horribly uncomfortable position. Hesitantly, she took off his shoes, almost dying in the process from the smell, tugged his body further down the bed so she could rest his head on the pillow and finally draped the sheets over him.

He didn't stir once.

* * *

**next chapter: draco has to convince hermione to join him for dinner with natalie, and pansy makes her grand entrance. **

**how was this chapter? i'm not trying to promote alcohol or anything (i feel like they get drunk a lot), but i do think it's a nice break from the hatred. but do not fear, real feelings aren't developing yet. slow romance, rememberrrr? ;D  
**


	16. something completely new

_"In order to be irreplaceable, one must always be different."_

— _Coco Chanel_

* * *

"Bloody hell."

"What now?"

"Granger, you can't make hangover potions for shit."

"I've _told_ you. You had a lot to drink last night and if you consume anything stronger than what you've already had it'll –"

"Do I look like I give a flying Hippogriff's arse? I'm in agony here!"

She shot him a withering glare. "Maybe you wouldn't be if you kept your voice down."

"I've only raised my voice because you have!"

"Actually, I haven't. You only think everything's louder than it really is because –"

"Shut up, Granger."

Hermione scowled at him; a little affronted he obviously doubted her potions ability. Honestly, if the potion didn't work at all, why didn't he just go and make himself one? Lazy toadlike man. He'd been in a foul mood ever since he came down the stairs that morning and was unable to stop from constantly glaring over his shoulder at her, as though everything was her fault.

"Why did you drink anyway?" Hermione asked curiously, playing with the edge of the tablecloth as she watched him prepare coffee.

"You really believe I'd tell you, of all people?" said Malfoy snidely, stirring his mug so profusely it was a wonder it didn't splash up and hit him in the face.

Hermione looked away and stared at the dried up flowers in front of her, considering going out and doing some shopping for a while to get away from him and his moods.

"Why don't you throw those damn things out?" he asked after a moment, inclining his head towards the flowers. "They've been dead ever since I moved in."

"They were from Ron," she answered in a monotone.

"Oh." Malfoy sensed the awkward territory he'd wondered into and quickly changed the subject. "It's a miracle I accepted your silly potion, you know. After last night and you trying to poison me and everything."

Hermione glanced away from the flowers and instead watched him sip casually from the mug, leaning with his back to her against the counter, completely oblivious to his slip up. She'd briefly mentioned while making her 'silly potion' if he remembered anything from last night. He'd told her no almost instantly and momentarily she'd believed him – that is until he mumbled about finding Crookshanks' fur throughout his hair and grumbled about allowing such creatures to sleep on his head.

Regardless of how many times he denied it, she was positive he remembered. Although he had appeared genuinely confused about waking up in his own bed, so Hermione concluded he could only remember snippets of last night before passing out at the laundry door, and for this she was thankful. It'd been uncomfortable enough when he'd first entered the kitchen, her brain switching back inadvertently to the things he had said, speaking with a passion she'd never seen before, and then the words 'stay with me' repeating in her head. If she was still squirmy about it, imagine Malfoy's reaction if he knew everything he'd told her.

She wouldn't do it. She couldn't. And there was no reason to remind him. The best thing for her to do was forget about it. File last night away and throw out the key.

"I need you to go to dinner with me."

She had been too preoccupied with her thoughts for his words to coax an immediate response, and when she registered them, she stiffened. "I'm sorry?"

"I…" He groaned and turned to face her, a battle playing out behind his eyes. "I need you to come with me for a dinner."

"Uh, what for?"

He rolled his eyes. "Don't get so excited, Granger. It's not a date. Calm down. I know you want me, but really, control your urges around your cat." He looked down pointedly at Crookshanks, who apparently had developed some sort of like towards Malfoy ever since sleeping on his head. He meowed and rubbed himself against his legs.

Hermione glared at the ginger feline, irrationally annoyed that her own cat had gone over to the dark side. "I only date men with morals and courtesy, thank you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He straightened his posture to look more dignified and robust.

"Nothing," Hermione said innocently, letting her hand hover over the apples in the fruit bowl. She tried not to smile when she saw the defensiveness in his eyes, watching very stilly should she decide to take one of his precious apples. When she grabbed an orange, his body visibly relaxed.

"Is that a challenge, Granger? You don't think I have morals or courtesy?"

"Oh, I don't think. _I know."_

"Please, I'm brilliant."

"Uh huh."

"I am," he insisted.

"And I think it's great that you think you are."

"I hate you."

"I wouldn't have it any other way. Now, what's this dinner about?" Hermione asked, turning serious again.

Again, Malfoy groaned. "It's not because I want you to, so lets just get that straight. It's with my mother and… and a friend. She'd like to meet you and ask about your work."

Hermione laughed, but there was no amusement in it. "You want me to have tea, with your mother and her friend along with you?"

"Yes."

Pause.

"No."

"What? Oh, come on!"

"It could be a trap to kill me or something," she said, folding her arms and leaning back into the chair, biting into piece of orange carefully so juice wouldn't squirt everywhere.

"You die, I die," Malfoy sang, repeating words she seemed to be hearing a lot lately. "Besides, Natalie Hopkins likes your sort."

"Natalie Hopkins? I've met her before."

"Brilliant, you're already acquainted! So how about it, Granger?"

Now it was Hermione who groaned. "Fine."

* * *

"What's wrong with it?"

"Why won't it stop crying?"

Hermione wanted to scream and tell everybody in her office to get the hell out. But she wasn't that kind of person and felt maybe they should stick around, should she need any help.

It was Wednesday, 4:19pm. Ten minutes ago, a house elf had arrived in the building in hysterics, and because Hermione was head of the Promotion for Elfish Welfare, it'd been brought straight into her office, disturbing every single one of her workers so now the room was at its full capacity; the other employees ogling through the little windows beside her door nosily to see what was going on.

Being claustrophobic did not help matters, and accompanied with the sobbing elf and yelling people squished up around her, Hermione was about to go into panic mode. Not to mention she also had to leave and get back to the flat soon to get ready for dinner with bloody Malfoy's mother and Natalie.

"What the hell is going on?"

Her head snapped up. Looking past the fifteen different coloured heads, she saw said person in her doorway. Great.

"Malfoy, get out of here. I'm busy."

"Yeah, I can see that. What are you doing?" And then, noticing the sobbing elf in the centre of the room: "Holy shit."

"I know," moaned Hermione, shuffling past everyone so they wouldn't have to yell over the noise. "I've got to sort this all out, so I don't know how late I'm going to be. Could you possibly tell Natalie I'm very –?"

His face hardened. "No Granger, you're still coming and you won't be late."

"Are we in the same room right now?" she asked, fixing him with a disbelieving look. "There's no way I can –"

"You will," Malfoy said confidently, and then louder he spoke to the rest of the room, "Everybody, get out. Now."

He didn't yell, or even use threats, but for some reason everyone listened and stumbled out of the office. Some threw curious glances as they passed, but most had their heads down. It wasn't long until it was just Hermione, Malfoy and the elf, who was still sobbing horribly, tears completely drenching the front of her worn out dress and dripping from her long nose.

"So that's what all the commotion is about," said Malfoy matter-of-factly.

"Yes. I can't get a coherent word out of her."

Malfoy studied the elf a moment longer, drinking in her appearance, until he apparently saw something that caught his attention. He strode over to her, crying so hard now that she didn't even seem to notice Malfoy's presence until he, very hesitantly it was almost painful to watch, bent down and picked up a very blue and fluffy slipper at the elf's feet, examining it closely.

"I know who this is," he murmured a second later, turning it over.

"Who?"

"This is Tully, Theodore Nott's house elf." His gaze met Hermione's. "Blaise told me she has a thing for slippers."

At the sound of her name, Tully looked up and sniffled loudly, wiping her eyes on her dress and said, "Master is missing."

Whatever Malfoy was thinking about Theodore, he kept his face blank, and she wondered if the only way to ever truly know what a Malfoy was feeling was to get them inebriated.

After a very long argument about what to do with Tully – Hermione insisting that they stay with her and Malfoy angrily saying that Tully was just an elf and she'd be fine if they left her, to which Hermione replied with a few choice words of her own – both eventually agreed she'd be better off staying with Shannon, the Official House Elf Caretaker. Though Malfoy still mumbled and grumbled to himself about how elves were getting fairer treatment than wizards these days.

But even Malfoy's complains didn't last as long as Hermione's concerns about Tully. In fact, once they'd Apparated back to the flat, so much of her attention was focused on the house elf that she was hardly taking notice how she was dressing herself for dinner.

Therefore, it was understandable when Hermione met up with Malfoy in the kitchen half an hour later that the expression on his face went from impatience to amusement. It had taken her about three minutes longer than it should have to realise what was wrong, but then he gave her a pointed look, his eyes going down to her dress and back again.

The buttons were done up very crooked, so crooked that the right side was about five inches longer than the other, the holes of missing buttons poking out.

"Wow, Granger," he drawled. "Spending too much time with Weasley, don't you think? I'd have expected something like this from him, but never from you. How disappointing."

"Oh, shush you," Hermione huffed, turning her back to him to fix herself.

Malfoy cleared his throat behind her. "Either turn around and show us what's under there, or go up and do that in your room."

Hermione, flustered, almost slipped and ripped one of the buttons right off. "I, uh, what?"

"It was a joke. Just hurry, would you?"

Of course it had been a joke, but since when did Malfoy joke with her, let alone _suggestive_jokes? Hermione didn't care, not really, but since last night it was harder being around him. She felt so embarrassed and had no idea why because there wasn't even a proper _reason_ to be embarrassed. If anybody should be feeing uncomfortable, it should've been Malfoy. But of course, he was lucky enough to not remember.

When she finished, they Apparated to a part of London Hermione wasn't entirely familiar with, but if the outside of the restaurant and the shops that surrounded it were anything to go by, it was an expensive part. The kind of places Hermione remembered always looking through the windows and wondering if one day she'd ever have enough money for a night of dining there.

Malfoy, for his part, couldn't have looked more bored if he tried. Didn't he realise how beautiful this place was? The front windows had water flowing down in steams, and everything Hermione could make out inside was lined in gold, the very interior seeming to glow, fresh flowers on every table. And the food, Merlin, it smelled spectacular.

"Draco, darling!" a voice called.

Hermione looked where the sound of clicking heels was coming from and saw three women approaching them. The first was obviously Malfoy's mother, beautiful and lips coated in red as always, wearing robes of the finest silk. The second was Natalie, who looked just as elegant and reeked of power and wealth, her nose partially inclined into the air. She smiled when her eyes connected with Hermione's, but it lacked genuineness. And the last woman was nothing short of shocking.

Pansy Parkinson.

But she didn't _look_ like Parkinson. She hadn't changed much in looks, by no means – it was the same when Hermione had first, literally, ran into Malfoy. The only difference in him had been his height, the definition of his face, and his hair; no longer slicked tightly back but combed through carelessly yet neatly. And it was the same with Parkinson.

She was taller than Hermione remembered (likely the shoes?), her hair was longer and darker, and she'd grown into her rather unflattering nose and had learned how to properly apply makeup without layering it on. Small alterations and definitely not the reasons why Hermione couldn't help but stare.

It was Parkinson's expression, her body language, appearance. The unkempt condition of her hair and how she wasn't looking the least bit thrilled to see Malfoy, but rather looked right past him as though he wasn't there. They were under the same streetlight now and Hermione could see the redness and purple bags under her eyes, the downward turn of her mouth, the bleak expression. The life seemed to have been literally drained out of her.

"Hope neither of you mind," Narcissa's voice broke through Hermione's thoughts. "I brought Pansy along with us."

Malfoy was looking at Parkinson with what could only be described as astonishment. He blinked, visibly swallowed to sturdy himself, and gave a stiff nod that she did not return.

Narcissa and Natalie ushered the three former Hogwarts students into the restaurant, and were then led by a waiter to an isolated back corner. There were no menus on their table, to nobody's confusion but Hermione's, and she watched, stunned, as everyone ordered exactly what they wanted, down from how much pepper they wanted to how much salad.

When it was Hermione's turn, she was thankful that no one at the table was paying any attention to her; Parkinson and Malfoy were looking down in their laps, while Natalie and Narcissa stared blankly at the patterns in the tablecloth – only the waiter witnessed her awkwardly shift in her seat.

"Madam?" the waiter inquired, a quill and paper floating mid air beside his head.

She thought quickly, thinking of a dish that was commonly served, but then a light bulb suddenly went off, and she found herself saying, "Make something, anything, for me." In a place so orderly and exact, it needed some stirring.

The waiter looked torn between laughing or throwing the quill at her. "Pardon?"

"I said, make something completely new for me. Something you've never made before. I'm not allergic to anything so it's okay."

Everyone was now definitely looking at her and Hermione was kind of relieved to see Parkinson act like her old self when her upper lip curled in dislike.

There was stifled laughter over the restaurant's quiet chatting. At first she thought it was the waiter, but he had left, so her gaze shifted to the person sitting directly across from her.

Malfoy had his elbow on the table (Narcissa wrinkling up her nose at it), his palm pressed up against his mouth, though Hermione could still see his cheeks turned up in what could only be an attempt to hide a smile.

Their eyes met across from the table. It was so quick, she might have imagined it, but briefly she thought there was no hate when their gazes met, instead rather some sort of agreement or understanding, or something she didn't quite understand.

Parkinson didn't miss this either. She opened her mouth, no doubt to say exactly what was on her mind, but then Narcissa said, "Well now, let's get this dinner started, shall we?" And like that, appetisers abruptly appeared before them, complete with mints beside their plates. Everything looked so tasty, Pansy easily forgot whatever it was she had to say.

And so dinner began.

* * *

**next chapter: is full of tears. pansy cries, hermione cries, and poor draco is forced to deal with two sobbing women. oh, and another character makes their first proper appearance.**

**sorry this was a bit of a wait! it was a hectic part of the year, but i hope everyone had a fantastic new years :) unfortunately, the next chapter may be a two week delay as i am going to sydney to spend my life savings on clothes, clothes, more clothes, stuff i'll probably never use but thought it was a good idea to buy at the time, and bribing boys to make out with me. **


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